


Wings of Porcelain

by Dickenangelo



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Concerned Crowley (Good Omens), Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fussy Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gabriel is(n’t such) a dick, Happy Ending, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mild use of Strong Language, Minor Original Character(s), Multiple Pov, Panicking Crowley (Good Omens), Sick Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sickfic, Wing Grooming, Wing Injury, Wingfic, You can’t have whump without whump, graphic depiction of injury, graphic depiction of violence, ineffable bureaucracy (if you squint), quite an extraordinary amount of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dickenangelo/pseuds/Dickenangelo
Summary: "I think they're pretending it didn't happen." Good Omens, p. 218.Not everyone is happy to pretend that the failed Apocalypse never happened.Some of those unhappy entities pay a short visit to Aziraphale’s bookshop, a visit that would cost him not only his wings but also his newly regained confidence, as well as his favourite mug – and that is completely unforgivable.His demon is there for him. Of course he is!But what can he do when the angel’s mind seems to turn against him?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 110
Kudos: 211





	1. Cover Art

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! Just some indulgent hurt comfort. We like those fics so much that we decided to join the party. Hope you enjoy it, mind the tags and stay safe
> 
> Love you all and will always appreciate kudos and comments :)
> 
> We want to thank both our betas, one of which wishes to remain anonymous and TheOneGoldring! Thank you so much, we cannot say how much we appreciate and cherish all your help (we wanted to write "effort" but this is not the fandom for it :P ) <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by @MiriamRW411 on Twitter https://twitter.com/MiriamRW411  
> you can find her on IG and Tumblr  
> https://www.instagram.com/mrw411_boutique/?hl=en  
> https://mrw411.tumblr.com/post/627529087196463104/new-cover-art-tw-blood  
> (She also happens to put the "Dickens" in Dickenangelo....😉)


	2. Prologue

**Prologue**

The three of them stood on the corner across from a certain bookshop, it’s golden letters proudly announcing that it belonged to A. Z. Fell and co. 

They were watching. 

They were waiting, not even trying to hide it. They were staring directly at the bookshops door, like wild cats watching their prey from afar, awaiting the right moment. Their shadows under them small black circles in the sharp rays of sunlight beating down on them. 

They followed the sleek black Bentley as it rounded the corner and parked across the street. The angel stepped out of the car, leaned over to kiss the driver and confidently strolled over to the front door.

“Shall we?” the speaker, a tall figure with not a hair out of place turned to the other two.

“Yes,” smiled the shorter being maliciously “lets”

The third of the party simply nodded in agreement.

They all snapped their fingers simultaneously and disappeared.


	3. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friendly reminder that this chapter has some of the violence that we warned about in the tags. Please mind the warnings and be safe <3

**Chapter 1**

  
  


The mid-morning sun was peeking out of fluffy white clouds that were lazily floating across the sky. It was a nice day, Aziraphale thought, especially now that Crowley screeched the Bentley to a halt across the street from the bookshop. Every time that blasted car had parked safely it felt like a minor, well a major miracle. 

With a growing smile he turned to his right and said: “Thank you so much for breakfast, my dear. I thoroughly enjoyed it”

“Nah, don't mention it,” Crowley said with a wave of his hand “I owed you one from….when was it we last ate at the Ritz?”

“I believe it's been over a year now” He said quietly.

“Has it really been a year since Armageddon?” Crowley arched a dark eyebrow.

“ _Yes!_ “Aziraphale almost whined “A week after that wonderful lunch, you went to _sleep!_ For nearly _nine months!!_ ” 

Crowley smiled sheepishly and muttered guilty “Yeah...sorry about that” 

Aziraphale knew that the apocalypse that didn't happen really took it out of his demon. Honestly, Crowley might have the right idea - there was nothing a good nap couldn't cure. So he granted the demon his well earned rest, even though he felt Crowley’s absence like a broken rib. The thought of his long sleep always made Aziraphale’s heart throb with longing. He leaned over to the demon and kissed his cheek. 

“It's alright, Crowley, you more than compensated for it with this morning's breakfast” _Not to mention the last three months, two weeks and four days_ , he thought. Three months, two weeks and four days since he held Crowley’s hand and looked into his eyes, since they told each other how they felt without saying a word, since they shared their first real kiss under the open sky in St. James’s park, sunset burning all around them. 

“Will you come in with me?”

“What? Um..no, not yet. I need to make sure that my plants don't get any ideas. I don't mind the idea of Anarchy personally…” he shrugged “just not under _my_ rule. Besides, I should give you a chance to miss me for ten or fifteen minutes once in a while, right?” he added with a smirk. 

Aziraphale chuckled as he patted Crowley's hand and got out of the car. 

”See you in ten, yeah?” Crowley said, his head popping out of the window. 

“I shall wait for you with bated breath!” Aziraphale leaned in to kiss him again. 

“You don’t need to breathe, angel.” 

“I know. That’s one of the things you like best about me though, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Ngk”

With a last wave of the hand Crowley slammed on the accelerator and was down the street in seconds. As he watched the Bentley drive away, Aziraphale smiled like a cat who got into the cream and was unabashedly proud of it.

  
  


Aziraphale was keen to get back into his shop and start preparing for lunch. True, they only just finished breakfast but what Aziraphale planned for lunch wasn't so much eating as _licking_ things off Crowley. That and drinking an exorbitant amount of alcohol would make it a day well spent. 

  
Whipped cream and melted chocolate were the two things he wanted to try today. They had experimented with several different creamy textured foods, once they even used wassabi. It was an experience neither were apt to forget any time soon. But none were of the sweet kind and Aziraphale was excited to try whipping the cream himself. Manually. No miracles allowed, for that wouldn’t be as Fun. Yes, with a capital F.

With these lovely thoughts swirling in his head, he casually snapped his fingers and with a jingle from the bell, he opened the door and walked in. 

“Ahem”

With a startled jump, Aziraphale looked up to see Michael, standing imperiously like she owned the place. 

_Oh no…_

He jumped again as the bell jingled for a second time. He looked back to see Uriel standing in front of the now closed door and gulped. Then he noticed that Sandalphon was there too, standing across from Uriel, creating sort of a circle around him. They all had severe expressions on their faces. With his breath coming in shorter spurts, Aziraphale thought he’d try to seize control of this situation, though nothing good could come of this visit, he was sure.

“M-Michael! F-fancy seeing you here” he said with a nervous smile. 

_Oh, why did he always have to stutter when he spoke to his colleagues!? Ex-colleagues!_

“Surprise inspection” said Uriel.

“It’s been a year since that sham of an execution” Michael announced. She moved forward like a cat ready to pounce, circling Aziraphale to stand right behind him “and we wanted to see for ourselves whether the rumors were true.”

Aziraphale stood stock still, hands clasped together tightly in front of him and swallowed nervously but tried to keep his voice light and casual as he said “What rumors are w-we talking about?” 

“Your powers” said Uriel.

Aziraphale looked confused

“That little demonstration you gave back in Heaven” Sandalphone’s smile had too many teeth in it. 

“You may have fooled Gabriel but we know better.” Said Michael. “We know you can't have survived Hell Fire without some sort of trickery. So you managed to learn a thing or two from your boyfriend from hell.” 

“Long story short, we don’t think you deserve your wings.” Sandalphone supplied helpfully.

“W-what? My wings? Tha-that’s...” Aziraphale sputtered “what on earth….” 

“Yes, exactly. What a fast learner you’ve become.” Answered Uriel. “On earth. Where you’re going to stay since you’re banned from Heaven forever.” 

“And we want to make sure you have absolutely no way to return.” Sandalphone sniggered. 

Everything that happened next escalated so quickly, Aziraphale never saw it coming.

Most people think that angels are gentle creatures and perhaps that's true of some, even of most angels, but that doesn't mean they aren't strong and it certainly didn't mean they didn't know how to use that strength to maximum effect. They are, after all, known for their smiting. 

“Oooow!” He cried out in surprise. 

His head jerked back as Michael’s powerful hands pushed him from behind. Aziraphale landed hard on the floor.

“Ooof” he breathed out, the wind knocked out of him. 

He tried to get up but the angels were surprisingly quick and converged swiftly on him from all sides before he had a chance to move. Uriel gripped his arms painfully, pinning him to the floor where he lay. At the same time Michael held onto his ankles. Aziraphale squirmed and struggled to get up like his existence depended on it. 

“Is that all you’ve got, little demon?” 

“I'm not a de-” he protested automatically. 

“Pathetic. You won’t survive three minutes in Hell.” said Uriel as she struggled to keep him in place. Her attempt to unnerve him was clear as Heaven’s light, and unfortunately just as efficient. 

She doubled her efforts keeping him in place. Bruises were sure to appear, Aziraphale would have thought had he not been too preoccupied in trying to snatch his limbs out of the Archangels' unmerciful hands. It was a power struggle that Aziraphale desperately needed to win. But his soft body was a little out of practice and that gave the others the upper hand. 

From the way they circled him and the look in their eyes he concluded that they probably wouldn't discorporate him. Not yet. They were here to play.

He really didn't want to discover what they _did_ want to do to him, though every fiber of his being had the awful feeling he knew what was coming.

Sandalphon kneeled at Aziraphale’s side and slowly traced two fingers down his back. From the top of his neck all the way down to his tailbone. The friction caused his back to spasm. This confirmed his fear. Heart rate rapidly accelerating, sweat beading his hairline, he was to his shame reduced to pleading for mercy. 

“No!” Aziraphale cried out “P-please, please! Stop! Why - you don’t - please!” He gasped. 

“Stop whining” Uriel said harshly. 

Aziraphale whimpered. 

“Tsk..Pitiful” spat Sandalphon and proceeded to trace his fingers down Aziraphale’s back a second time. 

This time golden sparks flew out of both digits and Aziraphale cried out in pain. His precious coat ripped in two parallel lines down his back as his wings were forced out to the physical world with a mighty _Whoosh_. A smattering of pure white feathers scattered around them from the violent force of it. The first thing Aziraphale’s frightened mind did, to his surprise, was to mourn the coat, which was now ruined beyond his angelic abilities to repair. As far as he knew, no material could survive Archangelic smiting, and this is exactly what Sandalphon was doing. Aziraphale was being smitten! And unfortunately, not in the good way.

His mind probably escaped into mourning the coat so that he won’t have to think about Sandalphon’s cruel eyes viewing his wings, burning through his back like hot pokers.

Angel’s wings were extremely sensitive, one didn’t let just any other angel see them, let alone touch them. He breathed heavily; his strength sapped out of him.

“Look what we have here!” Exclaimed Sandalphon. He gripped Aziraphale’s left wing and spread it to it’s full length. “Unbelievable. They’re actually -”

“- Groomed” Supplied Michael. A hint of disgust was noticeable in her voice.

Angels rarely groomed each other. They called it “vanity”, when in fact the act required a form of intimacy that Heaven had lost long ago.

Uriel and Michael’s grip tightened around Aziraphale as he tried to pull away from Sandalphon’s touch. 

Bile rising in his throat, Aziraphale gulped and let out a shaky breath. It was one thing to have Crowley touch his wings and groom them. It was a whole other kettle of fish to have Sandalphon paw at them. His wing spasmed, slipping a little out of Sandalphon’s hand, the friction causing an unwelcome shiver to run down it.

His treacherous stomach gave an excited lurch. Aziraphale’s blush deepened. 

To Aziraphale, Sandalphon’s touch felt like something slimy and wriggling. Crawling on his back, on his wings, into his very core. 

Sandalphon seemed to almost bask in his discomfort. 

“You like it, don’t you? D’you let your demon touch you there? Do all kinds of things to your wings?” 

“Disgusting!” Spat Uriel “Vanity does not become an angel! I can’t believe you haven't fallen yet!”

Aziraphale, cheek flush against the floor, seeked out Sandalphon with big pleading eyes and weezed out “Please….please don’t….” unshed tears glistening and threatening to slide down his face. 

“Let this be a lesson to you” Said Michael “You can't betray Heaven and get away with it”.

“You can't make fools out of us all and not get punished!” Added Sandalphon.

“You have no one to blame but yourself!” Finished Uriel.

What came next will haunt Aziraphale for a very long time.

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

Crowley zoomed down the crowded Soho street towards his flat in Mayfair, a dopey grin hanging lopsidedly on his face. His angel could be so demanding yet so forgiving at the same time, he thought fondly, though he felt a bit bad for going to sleep on him. Well not “on him” on him...but you get the picture. Crowley would never admit that out loud but the last three months, two weeks and four days were the most fulfilling of his entire existence. 

When Crowley finally woke up from what he liked to call - to Aziraphale’s chagrin - his “power nap”, he decided that enough was enough and he was finally going to come clean and admit his feelings to Aziraphale,‘Too Fast’ be damned! 

Crowley thought that waiting fifty years was long enough, thank you very much! To his relief Aziraphale returned the sentiment. The angel never had to utter a word though, his blue eyes said it all. 

They celebrated by making an Effort. 

Crowley’s grin stretched even more at the memory. He changed gears and turned onto the street that would lead to his own. They started off by tentatively kissing which quite quickly turned into snogging which led to bow ties and scarves to be untied and discarded onto the floor which subsequently led to buttons opening, belts unbuckling and socks slipping off their tangled legs along with Aziraphale’s sock garters. Crowley found those as a surprise but was unexpectedly even more turned on by them. The rest, as they say, is history. 

It wasnt all sex though. Oh, he definitely had thoroughly examined his angel’s quality as a mattress, don’t worry. There was plenty of time to enjoy everything Aziraphale’s softness had to offer for a post coital sleepy demon. They spent as much time as they could with each other. They frequented parks more often now and went on long walks and short day trips around England’s more rural areas. 

They were even considering moving in together somewhere in the countryside. Crowley still had his doubts though, he couldn't imagine living without Aziraphale’s bookshop that had become in a way his real home. 

One of the only things they did solely at Crowley’s flat though was wing grooming. Crowley absolutely adored grooming Aziraphale’s beautiful wings. They were so soft, he loved running his hands through the angel’s feathers and being doubly rewarded with Aziraphale sensually shivering and moaning in appreciation. Aziraphale in turn groomed Crowley’s wings, however more often than not he would tend to change direction mid groom and started kneading a different part of Crowley’s anatomy. Aziraphale claimed he wasn't as good at it as Crowley was but Crowley figured that he was just being a lazy bastard and the madly in love fool that he was, let him get away with it.

Turning into his street, Crowley double parked the Bentley and swaggered out to the pavement. Traipsing up the stairs to his flat was uneventful. He turned the tv on for some background noise, a rerun of last night’s episode of The Voice was on and the hopeful contestant was singing Queen’s ‘We Will Rock You’. Crowley sighed “not you too” and poured himself a glass of red. 

He was about to turn and go to the bathroom to take a shower, when he felt it. Something was wrong.


	4. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are here to break your hearts and Aziraphale's wings.
> 
> We love him really but you just can't have whump without whump.  
> Buckle up - hurt now, comfort later :)

**Chapter 2**

Aziraphale had to get away. 

He couldn't let this happen. 

Sandalphon finally let go and Aziraphale seized his chance. He frantically flapped his wings in the hope that he might fly out of their reach. And for a moment it seemed to work! His bruised limbs left the ground. His powerful wings knocked his display table full of books to the floor scattering books and papers all over to mix with the feathers that were already there. 

_I’m so sorry, my dears,_ he told them silently. 

Even now, a small stab of regret pierced his heart as he saw some of his precious volumes laying open on the floor, pages bent in uncomfortable looking angles. The shop had a considerably high ceiling, but with all the shelves and stacks of books there wasn't much room left for his impressive wingspan to flap comfortably. 

From his vantage point up near the ceiling, Aziraphale spotted Uriel’s face. He could see a mixture of expressions galloping across it. Surprise, anger, hatred. Then it settled on a self satisfied smirk. She gestured to Michael, who nodded back. Both Uriel and Michael snapped their fingers. Heavy chains appeared out of thin air clinking and clanking as they snaked around Aziraphale’s limbs, wrapping themselves around his arms and legs. From wrist to elbow and from knee to ankle. 

_No! No, this can’t be happening!_ He thought, _I have to get out of here! Think! What would Crowley do?_

But Aziraphale had no time to think up some elaborate plan like those Crowley tended to come up with. The chains were heavy and weighed him down. 

_Oh, it would take a miracle for Crowley to come here now. Oh, where ARE you, Crowley!…._

He snapped his fingers again and again in his despair. 

Unfortunately, the chains didn't seem to want to vanish, Michael and Uriel were much more powerful than him, given their rank.

“That's not going to work, you fool” Michael sneered. 

He wheezed in dejection. Panic rose in his whole being and he frantically beat his wings but to no avail, he only seemed to be going down. 

“This is getting tiresome” She drawled. Michael snapped her own fingers again and suddenly the floor came zooming up to him. Well actually it was Aziraphale who was zooming down towards the floor but when you’re caught in such a situation your mind can play tricks on you.

_SsmmAACK_!

Aziraphale landed painfully on the paper and feather littered floor. 

“Oooww” He groaned, the air was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the floor. 

He tried to right himself and discovered that putting weight on his wrist is a bad idea. _Probably sprained,_ he thought absentmindedly. His training came back to him too late and he heard Gabriel's voice in his head: _Do not try to stop yourself from falling with the palm of your hands, you feather-brains!_

“Why did you do that?” Sandalphon chided “Don’t spoil him before the real fun begins!” 

Michael rolled her eyes “Oh, I’m sorry, were you going to punish him _while in the air??”_

While they were arguing Aziraphale tried to stand but the chains were too heavy. Trying not to put any weight on his wrist the attempt made him look like an undignified spider.

“Enough bickering, you two!” Uriel snapped “Look, he’s trying to get up already. I don't think Michael ruined anything, Sandalphon. Now can we please get on with it _before_ anyone from upstairs notices we’re gone?” 

That registered something with Aziraphale. _Upstairs doesn't know they’re here? Well then who sent them? Gabriel? Has anyone sent them at all? Are they really working under their own free will?_

Aziraphale’s train of thought was brought up short when Uriel snapped her fingers irritably and the chains started to pull at his limbs, stretching them in all four directions. 

The chains planted themselves into the hardwood floor and effectively rendered him immobile. Face against the floor, arms and legs stretched uncomfortably, he wouldn't give up and still struggled to break free. He quickly discovered that each time he moved he could feel the steel of the chains slowly heat up.

Aziraphale clenched his teeth _Guuhh, what ever will they come up with next?_ He thought miserably as another whimper escaped his lips.

“Let’s do it, then” Aziraphale heard Michael’s urgent tone. 

Perhaps he was right. _Perhaps they really are doing this against Head Office’s orders. Perhaps someone will sto_ \- Aziraphale couldn't finish the thought, for someone grabbed his wing again. Whoever it was, they held it at the joint closest to the wing’s base at his shoulder blade and yanked. Hard. 

“AAAAaaaaa!!” Aziraphale cried out as pain traveled through his Humerus like a speeding train and heat seared through his sleeves and trousers as he instinctively flinched away from the pain. His tears now fell freely.

“Do it again. I don’t think that did anything” Uriel’s voice was heard from above his head. Hands gripped his wing again at the same spot. This time the yank included an all mighty twist and _CrrraaAK!_

The scream that came out of Aziraphale’s mouth was nothing like any sound he had ever uttered in his long life. Tears continued to dampen his now pale and sweaty face as something hot and sticky dampened the upper left side of his back. Blood soaked through his clothes, slowly and sleekly running down the curve of his torso and eerily spread on the floor, catching some of the downy feathers in it’s thick embrace, turning them a dark almost black red. 

Pulses of throbbing pain radiated through his wing. Aziraphale was finding it hard to breathe. His eyes screwed shut against the mixture of sweat and tears. 

“You think that was bad?” Uriel said with a little too much glee in her voice “You don’t deserve to be an angel. You should have Fallen! You should have _burned_!” 

Aziraphale felt Uriel’s hatred as though it were another presence in the room with them. He didn't know where all this hate was coming from. He knew he was never ‘Employee of the Millennia’ but he didn't think he ever did anything to inspire this much hostility. 

“Do the other one” 

Aziraphale vaguely sensed movement behind him and before he knew it, his other wing was twisted and yanked. It took three tries till his wing broke and this time a loud _THPOP_ announced that the bone was now dislocated as well as broken. 

Another agonized scream tore through his lips. A scream so loud and powerful that all the pigeons out on the street took flight simultaneously as if they too could sense the horror that was being inflicted on a fellow winged creature. 

_Crowley, where are you?_ _I wish…. Please…. please come and rescue me..._ A sob burst out and he gasped. _Wait! No!_ Even in his distress it occured to Aziraphale that Crowley can’t face three Archangels. _They’ll discorporate him!_ Aziraphale started hyperventilating now. No last minute rescue was worth Crowley’s safety. Better he stay away. He will endure the pain. He will endure everything as long as Crowley was safe. The fear of Crowley falling into the hands of the Archangels, mixed with the throbbing pain radiating up and down both wings, made his mind sluggish and confused. Aziraphale saw stars, the edges of his vision blurred and dimmed. Unfortunately, he hadn’t passed out yet. Damn Principality’s corporeal forms and their durability that came with the job. 

Aziraphale was a hedonist. He was used to spoiling his corporeal form and he experienced every pleasure known to man. He had experienced slight forms of pain, some discomfort perhaps, not hunger but he did feel it when his body craved a nibble to eat or to be touched. Once or twice in Rome, there was the discomfort of overindulgence on food and wine (Crowley was actually quite decent about it and so far kept his promise never to speak of it again). As a book lover, Aziraphale also suffered a paper cut or two over the years. But never like this. What he could never have imagined was how much pain this blasted body was able to endure without the blessing of sweet unconsciousness. Aziraphale never took to sleep over the six millennia he was on earth but, he wanted nothing more than to slip into oblivion right now. 

A hand carded through his hair then gripped it tightly. Aziraphale’s head was tilted back, none too gently. He stared up at Uriel, fear and hurt etched into his face. 

“You’re pathetic,” she said “and a disgrace. Say it. Say you’re pathetic and a disgrace!” 

Aziraphale couldn't get the words out. He was in so much pain from his wings, from the firm grip the Archangel had on his hair, that the rest of his body refused to cooperate. His wings lay limp on either side of him, he didn't dare move them, for every little twitch sent millions of stabbing flashes of pain to dance down them. His wings felt hot and heavy on his back, as if his brain wasn’t sure whether they belonged to his body anymore.

The silence continued for too long in Uriel’s opinion.

“SAY IT!” she shouted. 

And when all Aziraphale could do was stutter a breath she lost her patience and smashed his face to the floor. 

“Ggnk!” was what came out of his mouth and blood exploded out of his now broken nose, streaming down his face. As dazed as he was, Aziraphale felt the anger and hatred radiate out of Uriel like a radar signal. 

“Break what’s left of his wings. He doesn't deserve to keep them.” 

In what felt like the longest time but was probably done in a few minutes, both Carpals were snapped and dislocated. He pressed his forehead to the floor, fatigue from all his struggling slowly taking over. He could feel thick rivulets of blood stream down his mutilated and crippled wings like a glacier swallowing a snowy mountain slope.

The pain was too much for Aziraphale to bear and breathing was made that much harder with his broken nose and never ending stream of tears. His throat was sore from his agonized screaming, and he bit his lower lip bloody without even noticing. 

He wanted it all to stop. 

He was full of despair for he didn’t know when it would stop. 

If it will ever stop. 

As far as he knew it could go on for decades. Centuries. Maybe that amount of time had already come and gone. There was nothing in front of him but eternity of pain. He couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. His wings were in unimaginable agony, his back was hot and sticky, his arms and legs were sizzling with heat. He was convinced he now had blisters and burns all down them, judging by the singed tatters of his sleeves. But the Archangels it seemed, were not finished with him. 

A large foot with a heavy shoe stomped hard onto one wing and a second foot with a shoe just as heavy stomped even harder on the other. Aziraphale felt how hundreds of little feather bones snapped and cracked. His body tensed as he screwed up his face in pain, all the while hundreds and hundreds of needle-like pin pricks stabbed uncomfortably and unmercifully into his flesh, and he cried thickly through his broken nose. 

At long long last, he heard Michael: “Right, I think we made our point. Don’t you think so, Sandalphon?” 

“Hmh” He grunted in assent.

“Do you agree, Uriel?” Michael’s tone was firm and brooked no argument. A long pause and then, 

“Yes. Fine”

A snap of the fingers and the chains binding Aziraphale finally snaked away from his limbs and disappeared into a cloud of thick angelic white smoke. He breathed a pained sigh of relief as his body slumped down onto the bloody floor. Aziraphale wanted to curl into himself but couldn't bring himself to move at all. 

“I hope you learned your lesson, Traitor.”

Aziraphale was too close to losing consciousness now and couldn't make out who’s voice it was that spoke. He cracked an eye open just in time to blearily see the Archangels leaving the bookshop. The bell jingled cheerily once, then a second time as the door swung shut. A few more papers fluttered lazily onto the floor, dipping their corners in Aziraphale’s steadily spreading pool of blood. 

A heavy silence fell on the room. A cloud moved and the sun poked it’s hot beams in through the shop windows, shining onto the bloody mass of feathers that sat limply on either side of him. He was cold. Very cold. His body shivered under the sunny beams. He knew he needed to get up, to try to heal himself, but he couldn't muster the energy to do it. He knew something was over. He will never be the same after this. He may not have fallen from grace but he might just as well have had. And as these morbid thoughts swirled around in his aching head the angel was finally able to get a reprieve and sank into oblivion.

Time passed - it could have been a few minutes it could have been a few hours, Hell, it could have been a few years, Aziraphale wasn’t counting, he was too busy being unconscious.


	5. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO ORDERED CROWLEY? 
> 
> One demon coming right up!

**Chapter 3**

Crowley was about to turn and go to the bathroom to take a shower, when he felt it. Something was wrong. He sniffed the air. It was coming from his plants. 

Crowley stalked angrily over to give them a thorough inspection. He was astonished to discover that several leaves on one of his more disobedient plants dared to turn a sickly yellow. Crowley frowned. 

“What. Do you think. You’re doing!” He hissed menacingly. The offending plant started shaking in fear. “We’ve talked about this, Connery! You are NOT allowed to WILT!” He took a deep breath and then screeched: “EVAAAAAAA!!!!!!!! This was your last chance! I warned you! Didn’t I?” 

The plant convulsed in terror. Crowley violently snatched it off the shelf and stomped over to his front door to get rid of it when his doorbell rang. 

_ Who the bloody fuck could that possibly be?  _

No way was it Aziraphale, he was at the shop probably whipping up cream manually or doing some similar foolish activity. 

The doorbell rang again. 

Crowley swung the door wide open. His face fell. It was his meddlesome neighbor, Paul. Stupid Paul was Crowley’s nickname for him. Stupid Paul was from Manchester and kept trying to get Crowley to join his Gardeners Club. Also his fingernails were always dirty.  _ Yich. _

“Hello Andy!”

“It’s Anthony” See? Stupid. 

Crowley gritted his teeth in annoyance. 

“What do you want?” 

If he didn’t know any better he would say that Stupid Paul was sent fom Hell to personally torment him. 

“Right. Well I think the mailman got mixed up and left a postcard addressed to you in my mail pile. Here” 

Paul raised his hand to show that he did in fact have a postcard addressed to Crowley. It was from Adam. 

He snatched it from Paul's hand “Right. Thanks”

“See you on Tuesday at the clu-” Crowley shut the door on him. 

He raised the offending plant to eye level “Consider yourself lucky.” 

He placed the pot, which now had luscious green leaves, on his office table and sat down to read the postcard. Adam, it seemed, was in Spain with his family. On the postcard two Flamenco dancers were engaged in a passionate grip. The red headed woman’s arms were raised above her head, as she gazed at her blond partner whose arms held her hips in a tight embrace. 

Crowley was touched that Adam thought of him and admired his… artistic taste. He barely stayed in touch with any of his Armageddon Accomplices. It was nice to be remembered. He tossed the card nonchalantly to the table and got up. 

_ Time to shower _ . Crowley wanted to freshen up before he saw his angel again. Besides, Aziraphale was very pedantic about eating off clean surfaces.

As the water cascaded onto his back and flattened his hair, steam rose in cloudy tendrils obscuring the dark grey tiles of the luxuriously sized shower cubicle. Crowley lathered his hands with shampoo and vigorously rubbed it into his scalp. Letting the water slide down his face, he washed it away from his hair along with his anoyance at stupid Paul and the disobedient plant. 

Next, he grabbed the shower gel and soaped himself up. The white foam glided down his body, it almost felt like a lover’s fingers exploring the planes of his corporation. He ran his hands down his hips, imagining Aziraphale doing it instead. He jerked his head out of that lovely daydream and quickly washed away the soap suds.

Squeaky clean and smelling of cedarwood and citrus - just because he was a demon, does not mean that he has to smell of brimstone twenty-four/seven - Crowley got out of the shower and dried himself with a light blue towel.  _ Tsk, one of Aziraphale’s.  _ Crowley’s stack of towels were all black of course. He didn’t know when Aziraphale left this one here but he wasn't going to give it back.  _ Serves him right. _

He looked in the mirror, saw his tousled hair standing in all directions and snapped his fingers.  _ There, that’s better,  _ he thought, eyeing his styled red hair. He gunned his finger at his reflection and gave a dashing wink.  _ Perfect. _

Five minutes later a very satisfied snake got into his Bentley and started up the engine. He wasn’t far from the shop when Crowley decided to surprise his angel with some fresh pastries. So instead of continuing straight, he took a right turn and parked at one of those snobbish cafes where everything was over-priced. Not that he cared though.

In and out in ten minutes, Crowley placed a box full of pastries and a high end jar of bright red strawberry jam onto the passenger seat of the Bentley. 

Excited to see his angel, Crowley drove off at a speed that exceeded the limit. 

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

Aziraphale was floating in a vast expanse of clouds. The light cerulean sky was washed in a calming yellow light, a cool breeze tickled at his skin and tousled his hair gently. Oddly he thought he could hear music but couldnt put his finger on which piece it was. It sounded familiar, as if he’d heard it before. Either way, he felt peaceful, calm and content. 

He softly landed on a terrace of light and fluffy clouds and rolled over onto his back like one would on an extremely soft mattress, and stretched. Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed with a smile spreading across his lips.

“You look sad” a serene Voice said from behind him that made Aziraphale jump. He quickly sat up to look behind him. 

There was nobody there. 

“I’m sorry, did I frighten you?” The same Voice spoke again. 

Aziraphale whipped his head back and yet he couldn't see anyone.

“Hello?” He said cautiously. He got up to look behind a stalactite of cloud and when he came around to the other side, he still couldn't see anyone. 

_ Strange. _

He tried again: “Hello? Is there someone here?”

“Yes” came the bodiless Voice “always”. 

“Oh” Said Aziraphale “What was it you were saying?”

“That you look sad” The Voice replied.

“Oh” Aziraphale said again “But I’m not sad, I assure you I am quite happy here” he smiled.

“That’s just your mind helping you cope” 

Aziraphale frowned in confusion.  _ Cope with what? _ And as if the strange Voice heard his thoughts, it replied 

“Cope with what was done to you” 

The sky’s light blue was slowly darkening. 

“Oh” was all Aziraphale seemed to be able to say. He cleared his throat “What...exactly happened to me? Did I discorporate again?”

“I shan't trouble you with the grisly details” the Voice said “but I want you to know, Aziraphale, Guardian Angel of the Eastern Gate, that no matter what others inflict upon you, you will always be an angel to me”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale started to feel a little apprehensive. The sky suddenly turned a dark red and the music stopped. A harsh chilly wind picked up that made him shiver. “What are you talking about?”

A slight panic rose in Aziraphale’s chest.

“You will always be an angel….Always….” The Voice started to sound as if it was coming from farther away “an angel….angel…..angel….”

“.....Angel!” Aziraphale recognised  _ that  _ voice. 

A deep gasp as though emerging from a body of water escaped his lips. The first thing he noticed was that his eyes were closed. Then he slowly became aware that he was on his side, laying on the floor. Though which floor it was, escaped his memory. Aziraphale sensed his chest rising and falling in a slow repetitive rhythm.

“Angel!” He knew that voice, but something was wrong with it. It sounded panicked. Why was it panicking? The voice, he decided, was ruining his sleep. He groaned out loud in protest. 

“Angel! I swear to Satan if you don’t open your eyes now, I’ll slap you!”

_ Crowley! _

Aziraphale opened his eyes. Then immediately regretted doing it. Everything came back to him in a rush. Breakfast at the Ritz, the Archangels, the pain…...

The  **_pain!_ **

His face crumpled as hundreds of different sensations hit him all at once. From waves of pulsating throbs to sharp needle pinches to a stinging burning all the way to a deep-set chill running through his entire body. A feral wail tore through his lips. Aziraphale couldn’t help it. It was a mindless way of expressing how he felt but his mind wasn’t functioning. He couldn’t remember the last time his mind  _ did  _ function. 

“ShitshitshitshitshitShitshitshitshitshitShitshitshitshitshit!!! I’m so sorry, angel!” Crowley snapped his fingers and Aziraphale went out like a light. 

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

When Crowley first entered the shop, his brain couldn’t process what he was seeing. The box full of pastries slipped out of his fingers and landed with a thump and a crash as the high end strawberry jam smashed at his feet. It shattered into jagged fractures and started to ooze it’s red content onto the carpet, mirroring the shocking sight that greeted him upon arrival. 

The scene in front of him refused to compute in Crowley’s mind. The image was broken, like the jar, it’s different parts not connecting to each other. The wreckage of the shop, Aziraphale on the floor, the white massacred wings whose bones protruded at all angles like the glass fragments from the jam. 

Crowley felt as if since he walked through the door he entered some warped alternate universe where nothing was as it should be. He suddenly felt the urge to run away, out into the reality of a minute ago, the reality where Aziraphale waited for him flushed with excitement, the air trembling with anticipation, flapping about frantically, making sure everything would be perfect for their evening together. 

As if in a dream Crowley sprinted to his angel and skidded on his knees to the floor in front of what had to be Aziraphale under all the half clotted blood around his swollen black and blue nose. Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s head all the while  _ Don't be dead,Don't be dead,Don't be dead  _ charged through his mind like a mantra.

“Angel! Nonononononononono this can’t be happening” He muttered to himself “What the Heaven happened to you??” 

It didn’t occur to Crowley that it was literally Heaven that happened but the stress that was building up in Crowley’s chest prevented him from thinking logically. 

“Angel!” He tried again. 

Nothing.

Tears sprang up in Crowley’s eyes.  _ No! You can’t be dead! I won’t allow it! _ He tore his sunglasses off to dab at his eyes. The memory of this very room engulfed in flames rose unbidden to his mind.  _ No! Pull yourself together! think!  _ His mind started to sluggishly ground itself back into this new reality.

”First check if he’s breathing” He told himself. Crowley placed his hand gently under 

Aziraphale’s nose. 

Nothing. 

_ Well, duh! You idiot. Something metal! Bruce Willis would have found something by now!  _ He frantically looked around the room. There had to be a knife or a mirror some _ where!! _ He quickly got up and jogged to the back room where Aziraphale’s desk sat under the window. Flicking through the books and pages Crowley found what he was looking for. Aziraphale’s ornate letter opener. He grabbed it and sprinted back to him. On his knees again, Crowley placed the letter opener under the angel’s nose. 

Still nothing.

Crowley, feeling let down lowered his hand and in doing so tilted the opener enough that he could see it’s other side. Crowley gasped in renewed hope. That side was fogged up, which means Aziraphale was breathing! Albeit through his mouth, but he was breathing!!! 

“Angel!” Crowley wanted to shake Aziraphale but was too scared to touch him. 

“Angel!” He was definitely too scared to touch him but Crowley was running out of options and patience.

“Angel! I swear to Satan if you don’t open your eyes now, I’ll slap you!”

Aziraphale cracked his eyes open. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief but a second later the angel’s face screwed up in what looked like unimaginable pain. Aziraphale made a sound that Crowley never ever wanted to hear coming from his lips ever again. Crowley was so unprepared for the distressing sound that he fell backwards in surprise. It took him a split second to recover.

“ShitshitshitshitshitShitshitshitshitshitShitshitshitshitshit!!! I’m so sorry, angel!” Crowley snapped 

his fingers and Aziraphale went limp.  __

There is only so much grunting and teeth grinding, hair pulling and pacing a demon can do before he realizes that this will not get him anywhere and not going to help Aziraphale AT ALL. 

He went about the room, surrounding his fallen friend - lover,  _ they were lovers now, remember, Crowley? _ looking everywhere but at his wings. The angel's face, where he could see the color of his skin, was so pale it looked almost grey. Someone else might have been fooled to think that the sleeping figure on the floor slept peacefully and felt no pain, but Crowley noticed all too well the small wrinkle between his brows and the soft, little, helpless moans he uttered every now and then, ever so quietly. 

"Think, you blessed demon, think." Crowley tapped his temples with violent fingers, as though he could dig the answer right from his skull, crack it open and let the perfect solution leak out. 

He had been in tight spots before, of course he had; during the fourteenth century all through the end of the world. He survived Hell, where you had to be smooth and swift, a quick thinker or simply extremely powerful in order not to be stepped over by someone who is trying to get to the top and be promoted to a better position, an easier job or a more comfortable desk. 

He survived the Fall. 

This is what Aziraphale didn’t get. He refused to give Crowley the holy water. 

A suicide pill, indeed! 

Crowley was a survivor. He could take it. He could endure, but on one condition alone - that he was the one suffering. 

When it came to saving his own skin, he was the quickest thinker. But when someone else's distress was involved, he was as helpless as a child. He felt as though his brain was filled with cotton, or kept away from him in a jar on the shelf of some dingy chemistry lab from a 1930's horror movie. 

Especially when that someone else was Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale who was meant for love and tenderness, whose soft body and soft speech and soft manners were made for love and pleasure and beautiful things - and Crowley was helpless against his torture. 

Anxiety and panic ran around his chest like caged wild cats, clawing at his soul in a repeated circle of "who-how-when-why", finding nothing in the bookshop that provided an answer. 

Aziraphale moaned louder, shivering, almost choking on the bile that rose to his throat as he laid on the floor, face down. 

"No. nononono, not good, not good.” He was on his knees next to Aziraphale, shoving his fingers into the angel’s mouth. In clearing his airway Crowley allowed Aziraphale's body to get rid of everything that wasn't necessary to his immediate survival. Crowley’s stomach churned in sympathy. He tried not to think of the breakfast they shared just a few hours ago spilling out of the angel’s mouth. 

"Easy, angel, that's it." 

Aziraphale’s face turned a bit red, whether from the effort or embarrassment, Crowley wasn't sure. He comforted him all the same. ”It’s alright, Aziraphale” he said “It happens to the best of us. Remember-” he chuckled manically “-remember the time I barfed all over your new shoes that first time we traveled on that ship together? I was seasick for weeks!” Aziraphale hurled once more with vehemence, tears wetting his scrunched up face.

When was done, still shivering on the floor, Crowley decided that enough is enough. 

He was persistent, and he was anything but a quitter. He is going to figure this out and in order to do that he needs to shove the anxiety deep down into himself, as much as he could. It settled into the lower part of his belly, where it felt like a living thing, moving its venomous tentacles like a sea anemone. He'll pay attention to it later, when Aziraphale is alright. Then he can have a proper breakdown, like he had in Spain, or in that pub in Soho before the end of the world. But now Aziraphale needed him sharp and functioning.

First he waved his hand and got rid of the puddle of sick, then he went over to the window to take a breath of fresh air when he saw them. The doves felt safe enough to come back. So did the sparrows. The city, contrary to what people think, hums with wildlife underneath it, little guardians that remind humanity that nature can take over when it wants to, with all it's wrath and beauty. 

Some people in the city knew about the wildlife scene that happened under their feet, in the parks and in the streets. They cared for it, had centers that were dedicated to help wild animals that got trapped underneath humanity's boot. 

Crowley ran into them once or twice when he roamed around the city in his snake form during the last few decades. He rather liked the volunteers who were willing to give a lost pet-snake a lift, and nearly melted when he shoved his head into their palms, more feline than serpentine but it made them squeal adorably. 

They had birds in the animal shelter, didn’t they? Lots of birds, Injure d birds. With broken wings. 

Like most of Crowley's sudden ideas, it might just be crazy enough to work. 

*********

Crowley skimmed through the screen of his phone with the swiftness and ease reserved for teenagers. He googled “found injured bird” and was now looking at the results, disappointed when the first result did not tell him exactly how to cure a broken wing or ease the pain. Instead he got lots of websites that recommended vets throughout London. 

You see, demons can’t cure angel’s wings. If Aziraphale would have been conscious right now he would have said that it’s ineffable. But he wasn’t. Wings were rather sensitive, you see. They were like Aziraphale's angelic marks or Crowley’s eyes - part of their unearthly nature, attached to their very being, growing straight from their core, revealing their true nature everytime they stopped hiding them. In addition, hiding their wings in the ethereal plane created a sort of strange energy around them. Strange accidents could occur, miracles could get out of control and will cause way, way waaaaaaaaaaay more harm than good. 

Were it Crowley, wings being a limp, broken mess he would never hesitate to let Aziraphale try to heal them. But Crowley would never. Not for the world, will he try something so dangerous on his angel’s wings, he was not going to risk it. So this is going to have to happen the human way.

They had to be clever enough by now to heal bird’s wings, weren’t they? Why not angel’s? 

The most promising website seemed to be  [ londonwildlifeprotection.org ](https://www.londonwildlifeprotection.org/) [.](https://www.londonwildlifeprotection.org/) He recognized their Logo immediately - these were the people who drove him around in his snake form until they found his “records” (which Crowley miracled into existence as soon as they got to the animal center) and discovered that the gigantic black and red snake belonged to a bookshop owner in Soho. Aziraphale was always annoyed with the interruption to his reading. Crowley found it hilarious. 

Crowley pressed on “what to do” and was presented with a few simple instructions.  _ Finally! _

Next to him, Aziraphale sighed and tried to say something. 

“Shhhh…… not now, Angel.” he knelt beside him again, eyes still on the phone, to rest his hand on Aziraphale’s damp curls. “It’s alright. You’re gonna be fine.”

“C… Crow...ley…” 

“Save your strength, angel. I’ll find a way to fix you in just a bit. Don’t worry, just… just rest, ok?”

Aziraphale swallowed, tried to lift his head to meet the demon’s eyes, but the pain got the better of him and he layed back helplessly against the cold, hard floor and fell silent. Crowley wasn’t sure if he fainted again or not. 

The first instruction was simple enough: “Place bird in a closed and ventilated cardboard box (make lots of holes)“. 

Crowley examined his surroundings. 

He needs to get one big cardboard box, one of those that washing machines and fridges came with. 

Should he order a new fridge just for the cardboard box? Such waste would be a demonic thing to do but… 

_ Of course not! It’s not about the cardboard box you idiot, _ a logical voice that refused to be a panicked mess argued in his head, _ it’s about making him comfortable.  _

A plush fainting couch,  _ Aziraphale loves them, doesn't he? _ manifested itself from under the injured angel, supporting his head with the single arm. Aziraphale was jolted awake with a sharp cry, as the sudden, unexpected movement disturbed his injured wings. He whimpered as he tried to stabelise himself with his injured wrist while Crowley cursed and rushed to calm him down, murmuring “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” and “I’m such an idiot” between “bloody, fuck, shit” and ruder words that Aziraphale actually found it in him to frown upon. 

Long minutes passed before the pain subdued, or at the very least became more tolerable as the angel’s body got adjusted to the new position. 

“‘M going to fold your legs onto the couch now, alright, angel?” 

There was no comment but pained huffs, so Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s legs with the most gentle movement, careful not to touch the angry blisters peeking out of his singed trousers and folded them neatly and comfortably. 

The website probably knew what they were talking about because the angel seemed a little more at ease after that. 

“That’s one nice cardboard box”, murmured Crowley before moving on to the next step: “‘Place tissues under the bird to help soak any droppings’ Yea, I’m not gonna go there” Crowley grimassed and read on. 

“Put the bird/animal in a safe place at room temperature.” 

Aziraphale seemed safe enough now, he noticed the angel was shivering.

“Probably from the shock,” he said half to himself. 

He found Aziraphale’s favorite tartan blanket and covered him all the way up to his waist, as far as he could get without hurting his wings again. Next he ordered the central heating to a few degrees warmer, and that seemed to do the trick; the softness of both sofa and blanket seemed to soothe the angel somewhat, his face looked a tad more relaxed and a little bit of color returned to his cheeks. 

“Great, what’s next?” he read aloud: “Do not feed pigeons meat/dairy products… is sushi dairy?” he muttered to himself. 

Aziraphale did not look like he was in any condition for sushi anyway. Or Crepes. 

“In many cases food may kill the bird (e.g. internal injuries, canker), so do not offer food if the bird is in critical condition (warmth and isolation are the most important factors). Sorry angel, can't feed you now until we get to the bottom of this.”

The demon smoothed a hand again over Azirahale’s soft, round cheek. 

“Do not squirt water into the mouths of birds or animals; it could cause them to choke and may kill them” Crowley muttered and read further. 

“Bu...suh tea wud be lo..ly, m’dear.”

Crowley jumped as high as a cat that spotted a cucumber next to their water bowl.

The angel’s voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. It sounded as though the effort Aziraphale put into uttering those few simple words cost him a week’s worth of marathons (something the angel wouldn't even dream of doing in normal circumstances) but it was coherent enough, and he was awake. 

_ Of course you want tea. _ Aziraphale was the type of person - ange -l who thought tea cured everything. No wonder people who only just met him assumed he was very, but oh so  **very** English. 

“Angel!” exclaimed Crowley, “What happened? Who did this to you?” 

“Im… is’not…”

“Angel, please. I need to know what happened so I can fix this.” 

“Gggnk” 

Aziraphale tried inhaling through his nose, a fit of coughing took hold of him, shaking his entire body. His eyes watered from both the pain and the effort. 

Crowley quickly waved his hand and with a loud  _ SNAP _ and a short screech from Aziraphale, his nose was back to normal. Unlike the burns and the wings, the nose injury did not radiate angelic wrathful energy. 

Aziraphale inhaled deeply and appreciatively. 

“Aah…” He sighed, visibly relaxing. Crowley materialised a damp cloth and wiped at the angel’s nose and chin, getting rid of the blood that sat there, slowly congealing to it’s heart’s content. 

“Thank you, my dear” 

“So” said Crowley, getting rid of the now bloody rag “who did this to you?"

Aziraphale didn’t answer. He looked down and sighed.

“Well?” Crowley tried coaxing him gently.

“Promise me…” 

“Anything!” 

“Please don’t… do anything stupid, my dear serpent?” 

“You’ve known me long enough, angel. I can’t promise you that.” but seeing the pain flickering in his lover’s sky blue eyes, dull and somewhat unfocused, he sighed and said “fine, I promise not to do anything rash-” 

“Oh good.” 

“-while you are injured.” 

A huffed, pained laugh escaped Aziraphale’s lips. Defeated, he admitted that Michael, Uriel and Sandalfon visited him and... exchanged unpleasantries. 

“Are you quite done?” Asked Aziraphale after listening to the demon’s most impolite vocabulary.

“Not even ssstarted” snarled the demon. 

“May I have my tea now?” he looked at him pleadingly, and that did the trick. It always did. 

Crowley nodded, visibly calming down “Sure, angel. One cup of tea coming up”

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

Aziraphale watched as his demon sauntered to the back room where the kitchenette was. He didn’t know who started the rumor that demons don't feel love, because Aziraphale could practically see the waves of love radiating off of Crowley. He could have  _ basked  _ in it. He closed his eyes and breathed through his newly fixed nose -  _ I do hope the fracture didn’t change its shape,  _ the thought lazily floated through his mind. He truly enjoyed sticking that little tip up in the air whenever he was exceedingly pleased with himself, or when Crowley said something very cheap indeed. 

In the kitchen he could hear the clinking of mugs and the sound of Crowley murmuring to himself. Before he knew it, his eyes fluttered closed and a soft snore escaped his lips.

_ Uriel’s face gradually materialised before his eyes “You’re a fallen angel now! No tea will cure THAT!” She started to laugh, then Sandalphon’s face appeared “You let your demon touch you like that?” He sneered. “Disgusting!” Michael was now there too. Their maniacal laughter and derisive mockery grew in pitch and their faces distorted as if they were under water. A long fingered hand with talon like nails stretched out to grab at him.  _

Something touched his shoulder and Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Owowow!” Aziraphale gritted his teeth against the pain.

“Shit! Sorry! You fell asleep. I tried waking you up gently! Really! Swear to Satan!”

“I believe you dear boy” Aziraphale gulped “it’s alright..I thought you were someone else for a moment there”. 

He took a few steadying breaths and tried to calm down. 

“You alright?” Crowley sounded doubtful.

“Perfactly”

Crowley didn’t seem convinced but let it go for the time being. “Here’s your tea”. 

Aziraphale shifted into a more comfortable position for tea drinking. He grimased and groaned at the movement he caused his broken wings but once he settled, Crowley placed his winged mug, steaming with a sweet smelling tea gently into his hands. 

Tea usually made him feel better. To Aziraphale’s dismay it doesn't. 

It was rather hard to handle the cup with his injured wrist and as he went to take a sip, from the corner of his eye Aziraphale spotted three of his white feathers steeped in blood, sitting quite innocently under a beam of sunlight. 

He looked back at the wings on his mug and thumbed them as if in a trance. His breath hitched as a proverbial hand clenched around his heart, making it difficult to breath. Tears sprang back into his eyes. A miserable sob blurted out of his mouth. And before he knew it, he was bawling. Aziraphale covered his face with both hands and let the cup tumble to the floor, tea splashed in all directions, and a tinkling crash announced that the mug had broken. 

Aziraphale couldn't suppress the urge to look at what happened and what he saw only redoubled the veheamance of his weeping. The porcelain wings broke clean off the mug, into several jagged sharp edged pieces. The irony was not lost on him. He buried his face in his hands once more and cried. 

He cried for his wings, he cried for the pain, he cried at the memory of the humiliation and shame. He cried out of relief and he cried for what could have happened had Crowley come earlier. He cried for the afternoon he was supposed to spend with him. He cried because he was overwhelmed. He cried for the mug. And the tea. 

Aziraphale loved that mug. Crowley bought it for him a few years ago as a joke. He remembered Crowley laughing his tail off because Aziraphale asked him what he was doing in the Amazon Forest and why did he have to travel all the way across the world just to buy him a mug. Aziraphale still didn’t know the answer to that mystifying mystery, Crowley never explained it. 

But now even if he fixed the cup with a miracle, it will always remind him of his broken wings. It sullied Crowley’s present and spoiled the thought of being groomed ever again. Something inside of him broke beyond repair, something that no miracle can fix. And even if it could, he will always know that it was there. Forever visible in his mind’s eyes. 

His head started throbbing from all his crying and his back and wings started spasming from his shaking body.

Aziraphale flinched when he felt a hand snaking around his ear and into his sweaty hair but he soon relaxed enough to turn to Crowley and nestle his head into the demon’s shoulder, clinging onto his jacket. The tears wouldn’t stop flowing. 

“Hey...Ssshhhhh” Crowley soothed “it’s alright, angel. You’re ok, you’re safe. I’m here, I’ve got you” Crowley didn’t stop muttering similar soothing sentiments the whole time Aziraphale was in his arms.

Finally, chest tight and body aching all over, Aziraphale was all cried out. He gradually stopped with a stuttering breath, his poor throat raw from the effort. His eyes, red from all the crying, drooped in tiredness.

“Come on, angel, you should lie down” Crowley shifted. 

Aziraphale spotted all the pieces of fallen mug and instinctively reached down to pick them up. 

In retrospect that was a bad idea. Aziraphale’s balance was off and he sucked in a surprised breath as he plonked painfully onto the floor, his wings draped in odd angles over the couch. 

“You daft bugger, what are you doing?!” Crowley exclaimed exasperatedly.

Aziraphale moaned in pain as his friend placed him back on the fainting couch. Positioning the angel as before, on his stomach, head resting on the chair’s arm. Aziraphale was now huffing and puffing in pain and exhaustion, his face almost green in hue and a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead.

“Shit” said Crowley again “Alright, it’s time we get someone to take a good look at you and fix those wings of yours” He took out his phone and looked once more at the website. 

“Looks like they’re out of suggestions. Do you think I should call them?”

Aziraphale grunted faintly, too tired and too in pain to form words. 


	6. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one this time! 
> 
> A bit of comic relief here before we dive back into pain and angst. Crowley being a bit rude to humans, and we introduce one more of our minor OC's.  
> Hope you'll enjoy it, kudos and comments are always welcome! :)

**Chapter 4**

Crowley dialed the phone number that was written on the website. 

“LWP this is Gwen McGuire speaking, how can I help you?” 

“Errrrr, hi!” answered Crowley, “I have a… found a... “ he looked at Aziraphale apologetically, “a large bird it’s wings are a real mess,” Crowley’s stomach did an unpleasant turn again, “broken and injured all over the place. How do I fix them?” 

“Where are you sir? Please give me your address and I will send someone immediately.” said the young lady on the other end of the line. 

“No, no. nononononono, no someone, no sending. Just tell me how to fix the wings, I’ll do it myself.” 

“Sir, first of all please remain calm, our team of volunteers is very professional, they will... “ 

“I don’t need professional volunteers, I need to fix a broken wing!” 

“Sir, please do not touch the bird’s wing if you are not qualified to care for wild animals. Now, is the bird safe?” 

“It might be, if those bastards don’t return soon to finish the job,” Aziraphale made an indistinct noise. 

“Do you recognize what kind of bird it is, sir?” 

“It's…” Crowley hesitated, “It’s pretty big…” 

“Heard… that.” Aziraphale muttered indignantly. 

“I mean, it has pretty large wings, but he is in perfect size, fashion standards be damned!”

Despite everything, a small smile fought its way through the pain and exhaustion into the angel’s face. It felt like the biggest miracle that Crowley has ever performed. 

“Is the bird stuck somewhere? Can it move around?” Gwen McGuire refused to let the strangeness of the man she conversed with put her off. 

“Not stuck, can’t move around. Look, this has all been very nice but if you can please just tell me how to…” 

“Are you on Greek st. A.Z. Fell and Co bookshop?” 

“What??” 

“Are you on 70 Greek st.? Near A.Z. Fell and Co bookshop?” Gwen repeated calmly. 

“URG” yelled Crowley, who personally supervised the call identification ability in those new devices. 

“Is this your location sir? You seem to be lucky today, we have a volunteer in the area, she can be at your place in five minutes or so.” 

“Oh, no, that’s not…” 

“We do not intend to impose on your privacy Mr…”

“Crowley” grunted Crowley. 

“Mr. Crowley. Our volunteer will give the bird first aid and then will drive it to the wildlife center in order to give it proper treatment.” 

“Errrrrrrrrr…….. I’m not sure this is a good idea…………” 

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. We’ll take the bird and leave, no questions asked, alright?”

“Errr….”

“Ok, good day to you Mr. Crowley and thanks for helping us help the city wildlife!” 

She hung up and her perky voice went silent. Crowley cursed and wished he traveled through the phone and strangled her. 

“Well?” asked Aziraphale weakly, “Is help on it’s way?” 

“Unfortunately.” sighed the demon. 

“What are we going to do when they see that I’m… not exactly the kind of bird they’re expecting to find nesting in a London bookshop?” 

“I’ll think of something.” He rubbed his temples again. His head was throbbing from all the things he had to think about, and the panic in his stomach started to raise its ugly head again. 

“Crowley… come here dear.” 

Slowley, painfully, Aziraphale reached out his hand to hold on to the demon’s. 

“Don’t move your arm like that, angel.” he said, glancing at the angel’s blistered arm, but the temptation of Aziraphale’s soft, comforting palm in his hand was too much for him to resist.

Aziraphale smiled a tired, anguished smile when Crowley stroked his hand as if it was a frightened kitten. 

“It’ll be alright” 

“Yea, angel. Course you will. Just need to figure out how the hell to…” 

A loud, fast, almost feral knock on the door made them both jump, and Aziraphale yelled with the sudden motion that jolted his wrecked wings. 

“Hello? Mr. Crowley? Are you in there? It’s Jenny from LWP!” 

The knock came again, this time it sounded as though she was knocking on the door with her open palm, before she tried to shake the door open. 

“Hello??? The door is locked! I can’t...” 

The door clicked. The bell rang. Jenny from LWP was now inside the bookshop of A.Z. Fell and Co.

“The hell did you do that for?” Crowley looked at Aziraphale unbelievingly. 

“Can’t just let the poor girl wait outside, can we?” Aziraphale wheezed, his eyes screwed shut. 

“Look, I’ll drive her off, say it was a prank call, a way to ask her to go out with me, I don’t care, just…”

“Wow” said the young woman, staring dumbfoundedly around her. Young people did that sometimes. Those were Aziraphale’s favorite customers - too young to afford any of his books, but full of enthusiasm and appreciation for the aesthetics. 

Crowley sighed. They were going to ask a mortal to help them. This was Tadfiled all over again. 

“Oh hi there,” Jenny approached eagerly, still taking in the abundance of antique tomes, not noticing the very wounded very literal angel lying on a couch right in front of her. 

“Are you Mr. Crowley?” she absentmindedly acknowledged him, the books still demanding all of her attention. “We received a call about a wild bird that… that… got…” 

She finally glanced back down at Crowley, eyes searching for the bird, meeting instead the extremely pale face of an angel that just about fainted at the attempt to fold his shattered wings back into the ethereal plain. 

“Be-not-afraid!” the words tumbled out his mouth as a last resort when that didn't work.

“Angel!” Crowley was back by his side as swiftly as possible. Fingers carding through the blonde curls, Aziraphale’s eyes were screwed up shut in pain again. His forehead, dripping now with sweat, was hot to the touch.

The LWP volunteer looked between the both of them with a confused expression, on the brink of horrified. 

“W… what is it?.. Is he?.. What… is this some kind of a joke or… or something? Am I on candid camera?” 

She examined Aziraphale’s wings from afar, trying to find any evidence that they were not actually spreading from his back but somehow attached to him. She knew a good cosplay when she saw one. 

She opened and closed her mouth. 

“It’s the real thing, I’m afraid. Look, I don’t have time for this. He is in real pain, are you going to help us or not?”    
  


“Is… is this real?” Jenny approached Aziraphale carefully, “are...are those… real?” 

“Hey, would you feel comfortable if I asked you the same question?” said Crowley, ready to chuck her out if she didn’t play nice.

“Sorry,” Jenny muttered automatically, still looking around for a hidden camera or for one of her friends to appear and shout “April fools'', although April was months away. 

“Yep,” Crowley answered finally, “It’s the real thing.” 

“That’s…” She looked pale and alarmed, a thousand reactions raced through her expression in a matter of seconds. “That’s… that’s just… SO FREAKIN COOL!!” she screeched. Whatever someone was playing at she decided to roll with it, if it’s a joke on her expense then fine, if not… that was even better. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean him being wounded is cool of course it's not but… my friend Lucy will go nuts when she hears this, she won’t believe…” 

“That’ssss cause you are not going to tell her anything” Crowley hissed, “what happened to Doctor-patient confidentiality?!” 

“Well, most of my clients don’t need that, Mr. Crowley” 

“Fine,” he snarled, but seemed to relax a tad, “Now. Fix. Him.”

This was not going quite as Crowley had expected. He was used to people backing away in mortal fear at any hint of their divine or demonic nature respectively. This was going to be fun….Not. 

Crowley groaned. 

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

Jenny could practically hear her flatmate, who also happened to be her best friend screech with excitement and delight were she here beside her. She was actually caring for a… Jenny didn’t know what he was exactly, but it was something. something like out of a tv show that she used to watch in her youth about a young vampire slayer. 

That’s not to say that Jenny knew exactly what she could do for said and sad being in front of her. If he was a bird she would have thought that some predator, perhaps a cat or a hawk, attacked the poor creature brutally. 

This bookshop was not the clinic she interned in. She was going to finish her degree in veterinary studies in a year's time, and has seen some really bad cases of battered wings, but her superior always took those cases on herself and allowed Jenny to watch and assist. She had never done something like that on her own and those wings were larger than any bird she has ever seen. And she needed her equipment, an operating table, all the machinery. 

“You don’t have an x-ray machine by any chance, do you?” she asked hopefully but her voice was full of doubt. 

“ _ Does it look like I have a bloody x-ray machine? _ ” 

Jenny thought she might have glimpsed some very sharp teeth behind Mr. Crowley’s lips.

“So that’s a no?”

Mr. Crowley took a deep, deep breath. “No”.

“Ok, we’ll just have to wing i-…” she stopped mid sentence at Mr. Crowley’s withering look “Uh..I mean improvise” she laughed nervously.

“Right” Jenny was a professional after all, and someone was suffering in front of her. She decided to do her best to help, “I’ll have to check where the fractures are manually then. This is probably going to hurt a bit so you’ll have to hold him down.” She was a fast learner so she stopped herself from asking if he had any anesthesia. Instead she asked: ”Do you have any alcohol to give him for the pain?”

Mr. Crowley looked baffled. “D-do we…ngk! Yes! Of course!” 

It didn’t take long for Mr. Crowley to trudge back with a fat bottle full of amber liquid. He promptly poured a generous portion into a tumbler. 

“That's my angel. No situation is too dire for alcohol” said Mr Crowley affectionately as he put away the empty glass. 

“OK, so now that that’s done, we need to move him to a higher surface, where I can have better access to his wings.” she informed Crowley in the voice she reserved for wealthy, problematic pet owners. 

“Is there a table we could use or-aa _ AAA _ !!” Jenny nearly had a heart attack. Where the very fancy fainting couch had been, now stood a legit solid stainless steel operating table. It even had extra room for his wings to rest fully spread. 

“How the flying  _ fuck _ did you do that?!” 

“Doessssn't matter. What else do you need?” 

Jenny thought about it for a moment then said “If you can magic a table like this then how come you can’t magic an x-ray machine?” 

She took a step back, wondering if this very strange person was going to actually hit her. He seemed to think better of it.

“I don't know what they look like nor how they work” he explained “it wouldn’t be any good” 

“Oh,” she said “yeah ok, that makes sense.”

“Glad you approve.” Mr. Crowley sounded anything but glad. “So. What else do you need?”

Jenny approached the man-shaped being that was lying on the table. His wings were covered in blood and gore, his clothes were ripped and just as bloody as the wings. She could see at a glance that the wounds went all the way to the joints attached to his back but she won’t be able to do anything till she cleared all the mess. 

“You should probably get rid of that” said Jenny, gesturing vaguely towards the angel’s upper body.

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale moaned suddenly, somewhat defeated, but also indignant, “I’ve been….told that ‘afore…” 

Jenny nearly jumped out of her skin. “Oh! He’s awake!” she exclaimed.

“She means the coat, angel.” Answered Crowley in an amused voice. “Not what’s under it.” 

“Oh...O’course. I'm’so….ver’sorry….m’dear girl...” The man -  _ Angel _ \- closed his eyes again.

“Ok, help me strip him to the waist” She said in her no nonsense voice.

Mr. Crowley exhaled a huff “Sorry, angel” he muttered. 

They worked together methodically. Mr. Crowley helpfully conjured up two pairs of scissors and they slowly cut up from the jagged rips around the wings all the way to the collar, then down the sleeves. They peeled off the sticky, dark stained garment and slipped it down his body so as not to disturb his wings and tossed it to the floor. Next went the waistcoat, which was just as sticky. Jenny felt a pang of regret for it, it really was a nice waistcoat, it looked vintage. She noticed a glint of gold chain as Mr. Crowley tossed it to the floor to join the coat.

“Oh my god, he has a pocket watch!” Jenny was getting excited again “You, mister, are one cool angel!”

“No he's not” Mr. Crowley said indignantly.

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s not cool. I'm the cool one!” he leaned down to talk directly to the angel “You hear that, angel? Don’t let it go to your head” he smirked. 

Jenny chuckled,  _ So he does have a sense of humor! _

They went back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We created Jenny because we think that in a world in which pop culture is so popular, there is no way that someone like us (as in "the fandom" us) won't be out of their minds with joy to behold the supernatural, the magical and the miraculous. We appreciate stories like that in which geeks meet their fantasies and react to them. We encourage people to write about similar themes.


	7. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - Graphic depiction of a medical procedure 
> 
> Some more pain for our poor angel <3

**Chapter 5**

  
  


Besides Crowley, Aziraphale didn’t let people touch him as a rule. Not that he didn’t like being touched, he loved Crowley grooming his wings for example or when Crowley licked and nibbled on him while in bed but the closest he let anyone else come close to touching him were his barber and manicurist. 

He liked the controlled environment when he knew who was touching him where and for how long. 

Yet he always had to remind himself to relax, to sit comfortably in the chair and let the barber do his job, relax his fingers as the lovely lady clipped his nails and smeared the clear varnish on them. 

One of the reasons he kept his clothes in such tip top condition was because going to the tailor for fittings always made Aziraphale a little self conscious. Not because he didn’t like his body, on the contrary! He loved his shape and wore it proudly. But everytime the tailor brushed his hand against him, it sent shivers down him, that frankly were too pleasant and it would make him blush uncontrollably. Really, it was just too embarrassing.

Finding himself on a table being touched very similarly was far from ideal, broken wings notwithstanding. Both his precious coat and waistcoat were gone. Crowley muttered something to him but he had neither the strength nor all his faculties to take it in. What he was aware of, hyper aware of in fact, were two very cold scissors drawing lines up his back and shoulders as his last defence against the world, his shirt was being cut away into pieces. His face felt hot from blushing, though that could have been the fever that was slowly settling itself comfortably in his body. All too soon the cold steel of the table hit Aziraphale square in the stomach, it made him jump a little. His sensitive skin was on high alert, the cool air tickling him.

“Gggnnngg!” was what came out of his mouth when a very cold, very wet cloth ran down the center of his back. He shivered, his stomach clenching and unclenching spasmodically as the cloth dabbed and wiped all around the area. He was half aware of Crowley’s voice saying something when without warning the wet cloth touched his wing. 

In Aziraphale’s head the scream of pain that came out of his mouth could have rivaled the screams he uttered earlier that day but in reality all that could be heard were small whimpers and groans. He felt every little drop, every rivulet of water and blood sliding down his skin and in between his feathers. He flinched some more when his other wing got the same treatment. 

Aziraphale couldn't take it anymore, he wanted to sleep but each time he thought he was gone, another shot of pain would race down his muscles and jolt him back to wakefulness. He tried resting his hot forehead on the cold table to ease the throbbing ache that nestled behind his eyes and temporal lobe but all it did was send shivers down his body that in turn caused more flashes of pain that kept him awake. 

It was a vicious circle and Aziraphale whimpered in despair. 

He felt a sudden urgency in Crowley and the volunteer's movements. Could hear their voices talking rapidly and before he could try to even make out what they were saying, a freezing cold  _ something _ was sprayed onto his wing. He distinctly felt hands touching it but there was a certain disconnect, as if the wing didn't belong to him. 

That illusion fled just as fast as it came when someone grabbed what he was sure was his broken bone and forced it back into place. The scrunching and scraping that emanated from that action made him feel nauseous. The stretching of his skin and the feeling of his other bones being pushed made him gag. Aziraphale was sure he was about to throw up. 

And then, miraculously it was over. 

A warm hand rubbed comforting circles on his back and Aziraphale found himself panting a little easier now. 

*********

The next few hours were the longest Aziraphale experienced in his entire, ever so long life. His memory flooded him with every description of torture and pain that he has ever read, from the Odyssey to Orwell, he remembered now like a fresh cut the most vivid depictions of torments, sentences coming back to him in fragments. In a deep, escapist part of his soul he felt with some bitterness unbecoming an angel that he can now reappreciate the accuracy in which human authors managed to articulate agony. 

Truth be told that Jenny’s treatment was, if this was even possible, more painful than his fellow angels’ torment. The treatment lacked the burning sense of humiliation but he felt no less exposed, vulnerable and helpless, and the pain was almost unbearable. 

Aziraphale slowly realized that the true damage the angels had made was this; It occurred to him now that this is the point they were trying to make, this is the message that they delivered; they wanted him to feel deep in his bones just how easy it was to break things, and how hard it was to rebuild them. 

He vaguely remembered begging Crowley to make it stop, saying that “it hurts” over and over again, holding Crowley’s hand so tight he was afraid to break it, trying to breathe deeply when Crowley told him to do so, biting on a piece of cloth so that he wouldn’t bite on his own tongue. 

But mostly, mostly he wanted it to stop. If only he could discorporate. Later Aziraphale thought that he must have blacked out, for if he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the rest of Jenny’s treatment. 

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

It was right before noon when Jenny arrived at the bookshop of A.Z. Fell and co. As she left, her limbs aching with exhaustion, eyes burning and legs begging for rest - she was wearing her pretty shoes today, not the comfortable ones - she noticed just how dark it was outside. 

_ Odd,  _ she thought,  _ how long have I…  _

The sun was long gone from behind the blocks of buildings, leaving behind a bruised colored sky and one last string of hopeful pink in the horizon. Grey, cold twilight took over the city. Jenny wrapped herself in her autumn jacket, too light for the weather, and shivered. 

As she blended in with the hurrying crowd, all walking fast and talking loud, thoughts chased each other in her mind, swirling and running in all directions. She felt confused, disorientated, as though she forgot an important meeting, she felt she had to be somewhere important… or has she already been in the meeting? Why can’t she remember how it went? Jenny hoped it went well, and that the uneasy feeling will soon pass, or she discovers that wherever she has to be, it’s a few days away or something. Where has she been right now?... Oh yea, she got a call about… a trapped bird. And then… oh, she probably stopped at the curious bookshop on her way home; she and Lucy always wondered what it was like inside but it was never open when they were free from school or work. It was… well, a bookshop. The more she tried to find words to describe the shop or it’s owner the more she felt as though the memories fade, evade her or are devoured by other thoughts like what’s for dinner and whether it was her turn to clean the flat this week? 

Jenny suddenly stopped in front of a little supermarket. They definitely needed more milk, she remembered as she stepped inside. By the time she left the shop and headed home, she remembered nothing about A.Z. Fell and co. 

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

Crowley casually snapped his fingers and with a tiny pang of regret threw away the private phone number Jenny gave him as soon as the shop’s bell rang to announce her departure. 

Jenny was alright, all in all, that is, as much as humans can be, and it was good to have another soul to share the burden of taking care of Aziraphale with. But she had done what she could and Crowley had to let her go home eventually; she was only human and sooner or later she would have started to ask difficult questions that the answers would threaten her sanity.

Arms, legs and wings bandaged and immobilized, Aziraphale’s healing was up to Crowley from now on. 

They sunk into an exhausted silence. 

Aziraphale was in as close to a fetal position as his wings would allow, limbs freshly wrapped in multiple layers of gauze, his soft skin flat on the stainless  steel table. 

The demon plopped himself into one of the plush filigree adorned chairs that sat at the base of one of the pillars, limbs sprawled in every direction. 

“Angel?” Crowley finally asked in a careful tone, lying a gentle hand on top of his blond curls. 

“Hmmm?” 

“How are you feeling?” 

Aziraphale opened his eyes and answered with a pained little half smile. “Dreadful. You?” 

“Pretty much the same. D-you fancy a nap?” 

Azirapahle nodded weakly. 

“Shall I miracle you a pillow?” 

“No, I’d… I’d like to… I wouldn’t want to sleep out here, my dear.”

The angel glanced up to indicate the upper floor. 

“You wanna go up stairs?” Crowley looked flabbergasted as Aziraphale would say.

The angel nodded and looked back down at Crowley, eyes so large and pleading that Crowley lost the argument before it even began. 

“What's wrong with right here?”

“Crowley!” 

“Wot?”

“It’s too…”

“Too?”

“...I feel too exposed out here” Aziraphale practically whined.

“For hell’s sake, Aziraphale, you can’t just skip your way up the stairs!”

“Please?” Aziraphale said it with such a small voice. “perhaps you could…” 

And there were those eyes again. Crowley was defenseless against him.

Aziraphale feebly raised his arms, the universal gesture every toddler makes when they want to be picked up. The fact that Aziraphale was practically naked, with the exception of his under-pants only reinforced the image and was not helping matters at all. 

“Gaah! Fine.”

“Thank you, dear boy”. 

“Ngk” 

Crowley found himself gently placing his arms around Aziraphale, careful to not hurt the angel and scooped him up as slowly as possible. Holding him bridal style, Crowley started towards the stairs. 

“Sssssstupid…. Sssssssssssssssstubborn……… brat………… of an angel…..” hissed Crowley as he carried Aziraphale as carefully as he could to the bedroom in the apartment above the shop. 

“Exposssssssed he says” Crowley hissed again, “Exposssed to whom? The bloody carpet? I’m… WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Crowley noticed Aziraphale’s desperate attempts to snap his fingers, hands trembling with effort. 

“Cleaning?... Up?” Aziraphale said

“You…. don’t… NGK angel! Vet girl told you to REST! No miracles!” 

He snapped his own fingers, almost losing his footing on the small, polished stairs and just about losing his hold of the angel, ordering the mess that was Aziraphale’s shop to look just a little more presentable. 

Crowley finally reached the landing and turned to his right towards the bedroom door. He awkwardly maneuvered sideways like a crab into the room, avoiding hitting Aziraphale’s fragile wings against the door frame. 

When he reached the bed, Crowley gently lowered the angel onto the mattress as if Aziraphale was a sleeping baby and slowly turned him over so he would rest on his stomach, careful not to jostle his bandaged arms and legs.

Lovingly, almost motheringly, Crowley covered his angel with the duvet and tucked him in, placing a tender kiss onto Aziraphale’s forehead and ran his fingers through the white-blonde curls. Crowley was a step away from the door when he heard Aziraphale make a quiet noise. 

“Don’t go” Aziraphale’s weak whisper stopped him in his tracks. He turned to look at his barely conscious friend. 

“Join..me…” Aziraphale lightly tapped his fingertips on the mattress.

“Ugk” 

Crowley reminded himself to breath again and gulped “A’right” 

Crowley carefully sat at the edge of the bed and took his boots off and tossed them lightly to the floor, his black jacket soon followed and he got into bed, sitting up with a mountain of pillows supporting his back. 

Before he knew it, sheets rustling under his movements, Aziraphale had crawled up to him and rested his head on his lap, bandaged arms circled around his middle. 

“Read to me” the angel mumbled into his thigh. Crowley smiled and reached for the tome resting on the bedside table.

“Of course, dear” 

Crowley looked down to see that Aziraphale’s choice of book was Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. He snorted in amusement. Aziraphale really did seem to favor the gloomy ones. He opened the brick of a book where a folded ticket from their last trip to the Royal Albert Hall had doubled as a bookmark. The page it revealed was a new chapter but all it seemed to be was a list of random sentences separated by individual stars to indicate the end of one sentence and the beginning of another. 

Crowley frowned in confusion “Wot you playin’ at Vicky?” he mumbled. 

He flipped back a page to read the last paragraph wondering if it would shed some light on what the angel was reading. 

“Ah, that makes more sense” Crowley muttered. 

It described how the young heroine received a mysterious letter and this is what it contained. Que a series of love themed quotes that went on for three pages.

Crowley started reading in the soft voice he hadn't used since his nanny days. Some of them were quite sappy, some deep and profound. When he was half way through, his breath hitched and he had to stop. 

> _ “When love has fused and mingled two beings in a sacred and angelic unity, the secret of life has been discovered so far as they are concerned; they are no longer anything more than the two boundaries of the same destiny; they are no longer anything but the two wings of the same spirit. Love, soar.”[1] _

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale, at his mummified wings where red spots had already started to appear in places.  _ He won't be soaring any time soon. _

For now though the angel seemed to have finally fallen asleep. His eyes were closed and his breath was slow yet even. 

Suddenly alone and with nothing to do, all the tension that had been building up since Crowley arrived at the shop today was threatening to spill over in the form of tears. Crowley had been holding a strong facade for his angel. He knew that if he didn’t hold himself together then he would fall apart. 

But damn it, he couldn't hold it in any longer. He let the tears roll down his angular cheekbones, but he tried to stay as silent as possible, he didn’t want to disturb Aziraphale who was snoring lightly, which resulted in his sobs being silent but his body shook from the effort. 

“Two wings of the same spirit” Crowley scoffed to himself, tossing the book back to the nightstand  _ and now one of those wings is broken,  _ snot bubbled at the base of his nose, mingling with his salty tears.  _ Who knows if your wings will ever heal properly. Who knows if YOU will ever heal properly!  _ Crowley closed his eyes, and found himself carding his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair again.  _ “ _ Love, soar _ '' yeah, soar now with clipped wings.  _ He took in a shaky breath and shook himself out of his melancholy, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  _ You’ll be alright. Everything will be alright in the end, and if it’s not alright - it’s not the end.  _

Crowley rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck, scooted down the mattress a little and relaxed into the pillows. Aziraphale’s head was now resting on his chest, arm draped over his torso like a cat’s tail. Crowley smiled a watery smile and drew lazy circles on and around the angel’s neck. 

Hours had passed, the sun had long ago set in the west and a cool autumn night’s breeze blew in through the open window.

Crowley stayed up through the night watching over his angel like - well, like a guardian angel. Every so often Aziraphale would make a soft distressed sound and every time Crowley whispered sweet nothings into his ear and rubbed his hands up and down his arms, shoulders and back. It seemed to do the trick. 

Until it didn't.

It was just gone four thirty in the morning when Aziraphale’s soft whimpers turned into full on moans. 

“Hey, Aziraphale'' He shook his shoulder to wake him “Angel, wake up” 

Aziraphale opened his eyes but he didn't look awake to Crowley, they were glazed over and bright, his face was flushed and hot to the touch yet the rest of him was shivering. His pained moans got louder and he started tossing and turning. 

“Gnk! That’s not good” Crowley scrambled out of bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1]Les Miserables by Victor Hugo, 2nd vol. Part 4, book 5, chapter 4, page 630


	8. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone got your tickets? Good! All aboard the emotional roller coaster! We have for you tonight a mixture of comic relief and emotional angst. 
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy it, as always we love and appreciate your comments! <3

**Chapter 6**

Crowley was not an expert in human maladies - that is due to the fact that Angels and demons don't get sick. Well, actually they could get sick, but were able to miracle away anything at the first hint of a cold. 

Of course, their corporeal bodies can feel pain, which made Hell’s threats to Crowley very effective. He and Azirahpale even suffered headaches from time to time (humans, after all, could be very very stupid sometimes), but not once in 6000 years had either of them had the flu for example nor had they ever had fevers. 

This was new territory. Crowley wasn’t sure what the correct way to deal with a fever was but if living among humans for millennia taught him anything about them, it was to keep the body cool and hydrated.  _ Easy _ Crowley thought as he ordered his heart to stop hammering so fast as he nipped over to the bathroom. 

He came back a minute later carrying a bowl filled with cold water and a flannel from the cupboard. 

Aziraphale, he saw when he came back, had managed to tangle himself in the sheets, tossing and turning in his fevered state, the red spots spreading and seeping into the bandages that covered the angel’s wings. 

Crowley placed the bowl on top of Aziraphale’s copy of Les Miserables and gently eased the duvet off his angel. Aziraphale shivered in response, his unclothed body protesting the chilly air that dominated the room. 

Crowley felt a bit guilty for treating Aziraphale so harshly.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Crowley reached over to the flannel and dunked it into the water, wrang it out and methodically folded it to fit Aziraphale’s forehead. The angel gave a small whimper as the cold, damp cloth touched his face. With a frown he tried to bury his face into the pillows to avoid it but Crowley was nothing if not persistent and held his ground; he kept the cold compress in place as Aziraphale shook his head from side to side. 

“Sorry, angel. It’s for your own good” 

Five minutes that felt like eternity later, Aziraphale’s strength seemed to wane and slowly eased his struggling. He sluggishly sank back into the pillows and fell asleep, his breathing shallow but even. Crowley felt it safe to leave the angel like this for a bit to go down to make a cup of tea for him. 

_ Cool - check. Next up - hydrated! _

  
  


*********

The first pale rays of sunshine peeked through the windows of the shop as Crowley came down the stairs, washing the mess that his earlier miracle missed in a soft almost white, yellow light, not unlike the colour of a certain angel’s hair. 

The stainless steel table was gone. The display table had righted itself with all the books sitting as innocently as the day Aziraphale placed them there; but a smattering of bloody feathers were still scattered across the floor as well as a few ripped and bent papers. The box of pastries along with the smashed jar of jam were still lying on the floor, forgotten. And Aziraphale’s broken white mug, the pieces strewed across the carpet like an oil spill. 

Crowley waved a tired hand from where he stood at the base of the staircase. Bloody feathers and papers vanished. The glass shards glued themselves together to form a mason jar again which in turn scooped up all the jam as if it had never broken in the first place. The smell of fresh pastries wafted over to the demon which made him inhale appreciatively. It was comforting, it smelled like a normal morning beside his angel.

Strangely, the cup had failed to right itself. 

Crowley huffed in annoyance, his yellow eyes narrowing at the offending item. He stalked over to give it a good talking to. 

“Now lisssten here,” he said, leaning over with his hands on his hips as if talking to a naughty child “your owner loves you, so you’d better behave and glue yourself together!” 

Screwing his eyes shut, he imagined with all his might that the mug was good as new and snapped his fingers. When he opened his eyes he saw to his relief that the mug had put itself back together but at the same time to Crowley’s dismay, cracks could still be seen all over. 

By the time Crowley returned to the bedroom, steaming cup of tea in hand, the world was waking up. The faint sound of birds and traffic could be heard and a pink hue flooded the room. Aziraphale’s breathing was still thankfully even, his body had relaxed somewhat, his back rising and falling in rhythm. 

Crowley noticed that the wet flannel had slipped off onto the mattress and went to dunk it again in the bowl. He sat down as close to the angel as possible and placed the back of his hand on Aziraphale’s forehead. It was still very hot to the touch but Crowley was an optimist, Aziraphale just  _ had _ to pull through! He had done everything he could to ensure that his angel will get better, so get better he will!

“Angel?” Crowley whispered as he replaced the cold compress.

Aziraphale moaned quietly in response, shifting his soft form deeper into the pillows.

“Aziraphale, you should drink something” He said and started rubbing his thumb in gentle circles around Aziraphale’s temple. Shiny, glassy blue eyes slowly peeked from under their delicate lashes and blinked tiredly two or three times. 

“Look, I brought you tea” he lifted the mug as proof and tried to smile reassuringly. 

“Nuuuhhh” Aziraphale tried to turn away then cried out in surprise and pain as he rolled over onto his injured wing.

“Sshhhhh don’t do that.” Crowley soothed and brought his angel back to face him “come on, angel, just a few sips. For me?” 

Aziraphale made an indistinct noise which Crowley took as an assent. He conjured up a spoon, filled it with tea and gently pressed it to Aziraphale’s lips. The first few drops slid down his chin but after a few tries, Aziraphale finally got the point and opened his mouth. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief and continued to spoon feed his angel till the cup was half empty. He could see that the effort of swallowing was draining Aziraphale’s strength and so the demon let him rest. 

He’ll make him drink more later, Crowley decided. As he turned to put the cup back on the bedside table he heard Aziraphale whisper something.

“What was that?” 

“M’cold….” 

Crowley couldn't take it when Aziraphale sounded so small and vulnerable. He immediately bent down to where the duvet had landed and pulled it up onto the bed. He tucked his angel into it and kissed his damp forehead.

“Sleep, my little cherub” 

Crowley made himself comfortable in the old worn out plush armchair that was in the corner, ready to help the angel the moment he needed anything. 

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

Aziraphale was cold, so cold. He felt his face burning with a heat that blurred his mind, but still he felt cold  - a bone deep chill that came from his own corporation ached throughout his muscles. His throat was dry as sandpaper and his head was throbbing horribly. 

But the worst ache came from his wings. 

They felt hot and heavy, as though they were pressing desperately against the bandages. The pain radiated from his wings to his shoulders and down his arms coming in waves, crashing against his body like an angry stormy sea beating at ragged rocks on the shore.

Crowley said some things he could not quite comprehend. His beloved voice sounded urgent, almost frightened. He had gone out of the room and came back again, carrying things in and out. The demon fussed over him and this felt nice too. Smart gentle fingers were dealing with his calves, pulling off the bandages there, exposing his hot, burnt skin to the cool air. Then the pleasant scent of ointment hit his nostrils and Crowley’s touch was cool and soothing against his hot skin. 

“Mmmmm cold…” Aziraphale purred. “Nice…”

When Crowley finished with the burns he touched the swollen wrist to examine it carefully. He brushed his thumbs over the sprained area taking special care not to press too hard. With a sigh Crowley wrapped Aziraphale’s wrist securely.

“Is that alright, angel?” 

Aziraphale made a noise that Crowley seemed to take as affirmation and smiled with relief. 

He began to doze off but then Crowley put something cold on his forehead and...  _ oh this feels SO good. _ It was horrible too, because he was shivering  as though he was about to freeze to death, but it felt really nice on his face and Crowley was so warm beside him. 

He was lulled into a strange slumber and immediately regretted it as bits and pieces from the attack began to flow through his mind, Sandalfon’s hand on his wing, Michael’s smirking face, Uriel’s fist… 

_ They ripped one of his wings out completely and attached it to a gigantic, bath shaped cup that Michael filled with cocoa from a glass jug, dark, mad fire burning in her eyes as she ordered the demons to hurl him in, their grip a painful clutch on his arms. “Here you go,” she said with an evil smile, “all the cocoa you can drink”  _

_ The images became blurry around him, and he slowly realized that he wasn’t standing in a dark room filled with demons and angels.  _

_ Instead he was in Tadfield airbase, telling Gabriel he had no intention of fighting in any war, pointing out the difference between the Great Plan and the Ineffable plan. “Then you leave me no choice,” Gabriel said somewhat sadly and gestured towards Adam Young. _

_ “Sorry”, said Adam as he and Warlock Dowling pinned Aziraphale to the ground and bagan pulling at his wings, “It’s for scientific purposes.”  _

_ “Yea, it’s educational,” Warlock’s fascinated eagerness was plain on his face as he examined a handful of bleeding feathers. _

_ “Nothing personal, really,” said Adam holding a flight bone like a horrid ice-lolly, “it’s about humans learnin’ to fly and all that, you know?”  _

_ Somehow Aziraphale managed to get to his feet and limp away from them, only to be cornered by Michael, Uriel and Sandalfon “You’ve been a bit of a fallen angel, haven't you?” said Michael.  _

_ “You should have fallen” sniggered Sandalfon.  _

_ “You deserve to fall,” said Uriel, her face grim. She pushed him over the edge and he fell ungracefully into a deep, dark abyss that smelled of sulfur, feeling his wings burning behind him, and he kept on falling and falling and falling and falling and… _

“Wake up, angel,” Crowley’s voice penetrated his mind and drove away the nightmare, “You’re dreaming, angel. It’s alright. Just a dream. You’re safe with me. I’m here. I’m here.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes shot open and a frightened gasp escaped his lips. He was leaning on his elbows, and his wings were on fire; he seemed to have made a sudden movement as he woke up and now was paying the price for it. The soft pillow was damp and half out of it’s pillowcase, the only proof that Aziraphale had moved at all for he didn’t remember how he got to being on all fours.

Crowley’s arms were around his shoulders as best as he could wrap them. Aziraphale instinctively grabbed the demon’s forearms seeking comfort.

After a while of holding Crowley and shivering, Crowley urged him to try and take some pills - miracled or bought, he didn't know. They just appeared there in the demon’s hand and he asked Aziraphale to take them. Aziraphale’s throat contracted and he wasn’t entirely sure he could take in anything, but Crowley was persistent, the look of worry in his eyes so unlike his usual self - he hasn’t seen the demon like that since the night of the averted apocalypse - so he decided to try. For him. 

Twenty minutes later Aziraphale was fast asleep, much more at ease than he had been the last time.

Aziraphale woke up from a dream that he couldn’t quite remember - not refreshed exactly but a bit more aware of his surroundings. The light washing the room through the windows could be morning sun or afternoon, he couldn’t know for sure. 

The dull ache in his wings got worse; an additional stabbing sensation and a growing pressure under the bandages. Coward that he was, he had no courage to ask Crowley whether it looked like they were healing well or at all for that matter.

The demon just sauntered into the room carrying a tray from the kitchenette and placed it beside the bed. 

“Awake already, sleeping beauty?” 

Aziraphale’s heart sank. He knew that tone the demon used, too much effort to sound casual, with all the strain kept underneath. 

“Come on, try to sit down like we used to do in Rome, remember?”

Crowley brought his chair as close as he could to Aziraphale’s bed and sat down beside him. 

“Why?” the angel rubbed his eyes weakly, wondering what the demon is up to. 

“We need to get some tea and food into you, so you can be strong enough and heal properly.” 

Oh, this is what it was about. His wings were not healing properly. Under his too broad smile Crowley’s tension filled the little bedroom above the shop like poisonous fumes, so Aziraphale smiled weakly back and decided to play along. 

“What - ahum” Aziraphale’s voice came out at a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What does the chef have for us today?” 

“The finest tea brewed to perfection, and porridge made by the same recipe that was served to the son of the American diplomat himself!” 

“So some tea leaves from three days ago and the porridge you used to give Warlock when he was unwell?” 

“Correct!” said Crowley and helped Aziraphale to sit up and lean on his side into a pile of pillows. 

“I’m not a sick five year old human” the angel grumbled as the movement made the stabbing sensation in his wings return. “I want sushi….and crepes.” 

He made a fuss only because he knew Crowley wouldn’t allow such things when he was in this state but he wasn't hungry anyway and he didn't want to upset Crowley with the knowledge. 

“Nope” said Crowley decidedly, “we are inhabiting human bodies and sick humans don’t eat sushi and crepes they eat porridge and drink tea. Now, eat your porridge and drink your tea or so help me...” 

“Alright, dear boy” Aziraphale smiled wearily, “I’ll give it a try” 

“Ok, good,” said Crowley, picking up the bowl and lifting a spoonful of the bland mush and held it up to Aziraphale’s face. “Now open wide…” 

“Did I mention that I’m not a five year old human?” asked the angel, looking severely unimpressed 

Aziraphale tried to stabilize himself on the cushions, not an easy task with his bandaged arms. 

“What are you doing?” Crowley said in exasperation and raised his eyebrow. 

“Give me that” Aziraphale gritted his teeth with the effort of sitting up and made to grab the dish. 

“Are you sure?” Crowley instinctively moved the bowl out of his reach.

“Like I said, I’m not a five year old. Just let me…” he sank back into the pillows in defeat, his eyes drooping from tiredness. Crowley has already done so much for him. He did not want to be any more of a burden. He wanted - needed - to soldier on so he said more quietly “let me try Crowley.” 

The demon sighed, defeated. 

“Ok.” he said and handed the bowl reluctantly over, “You got it?” he said softly making sure that it was firmly held in the angel’s hands before letting go. 

Aziraphale held the bowl, ignoring the trembling in his hands, the spoon rattling against the dish. He lifted his eyes to spot Crowley eyeing him doubtfully. Obstinately, holding eye contact he grabbed the spoon with unsteady fingers and tried to lift it to his lips. 

“I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much. I can handle a…” 

SplATTT

A perfect lump of porridge landed directly on the clean duvet that kept Aziraphale warm. 

“Oh bother”, the angel sighed, emulating his favorite character from his favorite book.

“May I help you NOW, angel?” Crowley asked, rolling his eyes audibly.

“Oh very well, if you insist my dear” he finally accepted the spoon of porridge Crowley offered, into his mouth. 

“Not the white, sticky goop I thought would get spilled over your sheets today” The demon muttered under his breath as he willed the mess away from the duvet. 

Unfortunately poor dear Crowley was slow to think of the consequences of his actions or rather the first to suffer from them. Aziraphale practically choked on the stuff which triggered a fit of coughing which not only hurt his wings quite a bit but worse, the lump of porridge flew back and landed squarely on his “nurse”’s face. 

The uncontrollable laughter hurt his wings nearly as bad as the coughing, but it was worth it. 

“I’m ever so sorry my dear” He managed to chortle through his laughter. Crowley flashed a dangerous glare “I wouldn't have spat it out had you not said something so shocking”

“Just...Ngk. Shut up and eat, you petulant cherub” Crowley said and shoved another generous helping into Aziraphale’s mouth. 

Despite his protests, the angel definitely looked like a five year old now, pouting the way he was while chewing the offending mush. 

“This is tasteless!” He gave up after a few spoonfuls. “No wonder Warlock hated the stuff.” 

“The staff had to clean it from the walls and carpets for hours” Crowley remembered, “I gave him a gold star. Now, drink your tea and get some more rest.” 

Aziraphale noticed how Crowley himself looked like he could use a couple of decades’ rest but he didn’t say anything. Instead he almost reached for the mug on the nightstand, but then suddenly stopped and drew his hand back slowly. 

“Something wrong with your tea?” asked the demon. 

“N… no… just… I’ll wait for it to cool down a bit.”

Crowley lifted his eyebrow. “I can miracle it…”

“No thank you, dear boy. It never quite tastes the same, but I will try to rest now. Do you mind taking the porridge away? The smell is making me feel a little bit queasy” 

“Sure angel. Sorry it tastes so awful. That’s healthy food for you, aye? I’ll bet Famine is behind it somehow.” 

“I guess so.” 

“I’ll leave the tea here for later.” He said and before Aziraphale could protest, Crowley disappeared into the kitchenette with the rest of the dishes.

Aziraphale leaned into his pillows again and faced the mug with it’s decorative wings, which was now at eye level. 

Crowley miracled it, it seemed. Its round, white shape now cracked, deformed, broken. When Aziraphale looked at it he saw exactly where every piece was broken; in his mind’s eye the mug was still shattered, he knew how every piece was scattered on the blood stained, dusty floor of his bookshop. 

From afar it might pass for looking perfect, but it wasn’t. Like everything that She hath made, the receptacle was created perfectly, and it was Aziraphale who ruined it, crushed the vessel bestowed upon him as a gift, a token of trust he did not deserve. 

The presence of tears surprised him as he suddenly blinked them away. Was he ever not broken? How could he look at the angel winged mug and not believe that this was his own doing? But this was the punishment he deserved for being a bad, broken, sinful angel. He deserved the pain.

Crowley came back not ten minutes later to find his angel trembling with tears, breathing heavily, brow covered with sweat. 

“Angel! What’s wrong?” 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale managed, “I...” 

And then he broke down completely. 


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

They sat silently for a long time after that, Crowley holding Aziraphale close, rubbing his arm and shoulder. 

Neither of them spoke nor made a move for a long while, hours maybe, since Aziraphale’s meltdown. He might have fallen asleep, Crowley wasn't sure. Aziraphale’s former panting shallow gasps through quivering lips now slowed down to an even pace. His sobs turned into a steady stream of tears before they dried out. 

Aziraphale broke the silence first.

“I’m ever so sorry, my dear boy” he sniffed “I don’t know what came over me.” 

“Oh, I know exactly what came over you, angel. Those bastards from heaven came over here and… and.. Did this to you and… and you have nothing to apologize for. Here,” 

He reached for the tea which he made warm again with a thought, “you didn’t drink your tea. Tea always helps.” 

Aziraphale looked at the mug and then at Crowley’s reaching hand. He made a hesitant movement, then stopped and looked away from Crowley hiding his pained expression.

“I… might I…” he looked at Crowley again, uncertain. 

“What is it?” 

“Would it be a bother to make tea in… in another mug?” 

“What’s wrong with this one?” Crowley frowned, “you always drink from this cup.” 

“But it’s not… it’s not as it should be.” 

Crowley eyed the mug. He wasn’t stupid, regardless of what the people standing next to Noa’s ark might have thought of him yelling about “one unicorn” left. He knew what Aziraphale saw in that mug. And he wouldn’t have it. 

“There’s nothing wrong with this one, Aziraphale.” he said exasperatedly, examining the curved matter, “still holding that liquid very well, after all it’s been through. Doing what it should and suchlike.” 

“It’s not the same!” Aziraphale insisted, sounding for a moment to the untrained ear like his old, stuffy, spoiled self again, but Crowley knew him well enough to acknowledge that there was something off key in his tone “it’s not…whole.” The word seemed to have got stuck in his throat, as if it tasted of sulfur and ash. 

“It’s still the same cup. Nothing’s changed.” 

“But look at all those cracks! It might… fall apart at any minute. It’s weak and worthless and…” his lips quivered ever so slightly, “and you should probably throw it away.” that last part he whispered, almost to himself.

“Bullocks!” Crowley leaped to his feet,“you love that cup and you love having it on your shelf and drink cocoa in it and it's perfectly suitable, so will you please stop this nonsense and just enjoy your tea as you usually do?” he implored, almost begged, his angel.

“It’s  _ imperfect _ !” Aziraphale was shaking again now, “It’s been imperfect for such a long time, maybe from the beginning.”

“Keep talking nonsense like that and I’m going to shove another pill down your throat because you are clearly hallucinating.” was the demon’s response. 

“God does not create imperfect things.” Aziraphale whined. 

The demon snorted. 

“Where have  _ you _ been?” he sat back down on the bed, facing his wounded angel “A lot of God’s creations are imperfect, that’s what makes them perfect, isn’t that what you always say? Isn’t that exactly what your precious  _ ineffability  _ is all about? Now drink your sodding... ” 

“Please, Crowley. Let’s… let’s just forget it. Put it away. I’m not thirsty anyway.” 

That was a lie uttered through a dry throat in a hoarse voice that suggested otherwise. What is another little lie on top of all that the angel had told through the years, sliding off his lips slick as oysters and as easily swallowed, for some more than others. Crowley, for example, never quite developed a taste for oysters and rarely agreed to take them. 

Said demon was now holding the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his finger, a clear sign of impatience, his throat clutching around the words he wanted to snarl about God and her priorities, about Aziraphale’s ex-colleagues. He resisted the urge to shout and curse through a long sigh and held it together. 

Just for now. 

Just for Aziraphale. 

“Look,” he said more softly, “I don’t have a problem making you tea in another cup. Could make an ocean of tea in any existing cup, mug, bucket, whatever you want, but I want you to know that this is as good a cup as it has ever been. Ok?” 

“As good as it’s ever been?” Aziraphale repeated, deep in thought. 

“Yea,” said Crowley encouragingly, like a private tutor who finally managed to get through to his dense pupil. “and a scratch here or a crack there won’t make any difference at all, alright? D’you see my point?” 

“Yes, dear I… I see what you mean. Would you still… that is, if it’s not too much trouble, get me another cup of tea?” 

Crowley’s features softened as he got up, taking the offensive mug with it’s imperfect wings with him. 

“Sure, angel. Any special requests? What about the one I got you from the food fair? The one with Julia Child’s quote?”

Aziraphale thought about it for a moment, a somewhat pained expression crossed his face, but that might have been a result of Crowley moving the mattress under him, jolting his aching wings. After a moment he said, “Yes, I believe that would do. Thank you, love.” 

With half a smile, Crowley disappeared from the room. 

When he returned, the angel seemed fast asleep. 

_ Good,  _ thought Crowley and smoothed some of the blond curls away from Azirapahle’s face,  _ rest is the best of medicine, they say.  _

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

_ Aziraphale stood in front of Crowley on the band stand in the park, twilight darkening around them, painting the world in blue and grey like one of Turner’s paintings. He was desperate, cold. The place inside him longing for Crowley was like an aching black hole between his chest and his stomach, an old wound that had been forcefully reopened. Crowley was yelling something about running away together, letting the world burn. Aziraphale was paralyzed, unable to answer, all kinds of different voices in his mind screamed “eternal love”, “humanity”, “your duty” and “ _ Crowley _ ”. None of them sounded like his own voice, or rather, he could not know which of the voices was his own. He panicked, panted, he had no words, no air to utter them. All the words he couldn’t say strangled him, forcefully pulled him back, seizing him painfully, nails digging into the flesh of his back.  _ Too soft _ he thought. As he looked behind him he suddenly saw an alarming amount of hellspawns gnawing at his wings with sharp teeth, biting like animals, sniggering like the worst of humans.  _

_ “You know that if you fall you won’t be like me, right?” said Crowley, unbothered by Aziraphale’s attackers working right in front of him, “You'll become one of those things, you have to earn your rank in hell, you silly angel. There’s not really a place for you anywhere, I guess.” _

This time he woke up alone in his bed, barely stifling a cry of pain. 

He saw Crowley dosing off on a chair next to his bed, one of Aziraphale’s blankets sliding off of his thin shoulders. The room felt cold but it might have been his fever rising again, and it was much, much darker than before, dimly lit by the street lamps outside. With the dream still echoing in his mind Aziraphale tried to reach out for Crowley and cover his poor, exhausted demon once again, but only managed to grunt in agony as he tried to move his arm, drop the blanket to the floor, make a mess out of the tea tray that Crowley brought him, and waking the demon in the process. 

Amber eyes shot open at the sound.

“Shit, I fell asleep!” Crowley nearly fell from his chair, and immediately clicked his fingers to clear the mess. 

“My dear! Are you alright?” 

“I’m asking the questions here, angel. Are  _ you  _ alright?”

The angel sighed. “As can be. I’m cold. My wings ache terribly.”

Crowley, braced himself and took a peek at them. It looked bad. The skin on them swelling against the bandages at places, and radiated heat. 

“Maybe I should… wet the bandages or something.”

The wet cloth brought a bit of a relief, if only for a while. The angel still looked ever so miserable. 

“Can I...distract you somehow?” asked the demon, holding his partner’s hand and petting it with small strokes. 

“No, thank you.” Aziraphale sounded as miserable as he looked.

“You sure? Don’t you want me to read to you? We can drop  _ Les Mis.  _ Too depressing. I can even give Wilde a go.” Crowley’s smile was sliding slowly into his tempting manner, “or - Shakespeare! I can do Shakespeare. I’ll be as entertaining as can be.” 

“No dear boy, I… I rather think I’d prefer to sit and think quietly for a while.” 

Crowley’s face fell into a grievous expression. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” 

“Why not?” asked Aziraphale softly.

“Because,” Crowley huffed impatiently “You’ll only Make yourself  _ more  _ miserable.”

"But..but I  _ AM  _ a miserable angel, pathetic... weak.” his voice cracked and tears he had tried to hold back, threatened to slide down his cheeks again, “C-c-can't even heal my own wings or-or fix my favorite mug-“

"Angel, please don't." 

“I don't know what I was thinking going against..." he sighed and lowered his voice, as though talking more to himself than to Crowley "for a moment there I thought I could be more. More than simply a soldier of Heaven. I thought I was brave enough to choose a side...but I'm not. " 

His lower lip quivered as his gaze met Crowley's alarmed, bewildered eyes. "You are the strong one. You've always been. I'm just...I'm nothing, Crowley. I thought I was, for a second there. You made me believe that I was... that I could... But Sandalphone and the others... It was so easy for them… like they were supposed to-to do all this… In Her name." 

“ _Aziraphale!_ ” Crowley snarled with frustration, “This isn’t anything **_anyone_** intended except for three pieces of-”

"But they had a point, didn't they?” The angel's voice was barely audible now, "I was always a joke in Heaven, could hardly be called angelic even before...."

Aziraphale's hand gestured towards the air between him and Crowley. 

“What are you talking about, angel? Are you feverish again?” Crowley placed his palm against the angel’s forehead, but Aziraphale swatted it away impatiently. 

“I’m talking about angels Crowley!" ... Aziraphale scolded in frustration, “and Heaven and punishing the… _ unworthy.” _

The word was almost whispered in a low, timid voice but it still felt like a slap in the face to Crowley. 

A heavy silence fell between them, the word hanging over their heads like a rotten fruit clinging onto the branch and refusing to meet it’s fate on the ground.

“Righ’ ” Crowley cocked an eyebrow, his mouth was a straight line of taught restraint “got it” 

Aziraphale looked mortified “Crowley..I…”

“No no, s’fine” he said in a huff. 

He was not fine, what Aziraphale said had hurt but he couldn't blame the angel for stating the truth, no matter how painful it was.

It was an old argument though, one that had not come up again since the apocalypse. 

Until now. 

Crowley saw his angel, his strong, beautiful, fearless angel who stood with him shoulder to shoulder against Heaven and Hell and Satan himself, crumble down like a house of cards. 

Doubting himself again. Fearful. Hesitant just like he was the days before Armageddon, when Crowley battled the words of Gabriel coming out of Aziraphale’s mouth. Crowley needed to detach himself. He needed to think, clear his head. He needed to be somewhere else for a while, hibernate under a rock when the weather gets foul. 

Now, for the first time since he found Aziraphale on the floor in a pool of blood and torn feathers he realized just how deep the wounds really were, how deep his essence was hurt, to crawl back into this dark place of doubt, needing to lean on certainties such as Heaven’s righteousness and the old words of God that no one could make sense of anymore. 

When it looked like Aziraphale was about to protest, he tried placating him:

“It’s Ok angel. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. We’ll… talk about it later, yea? When you’re feeling better. I’ll just… go see if we need more medicine. Not sure we got enough of the right sort and all. Y’know. I’ll just…ngk” 

“Please, love…” 

Crowley barely looked at him now. 

“You rest now, yea? I won't be a minute, swear it.” he said as he crossed the room towards the door, “Be back before you notice I’m gone”. 

And out he went. 

He waited in the kitchenette, leaning on the small table for about half an hour or so. Then he paced in the bookshop to and fro. A room so crammed with words yet none of them could answer his questions. 


	10. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, just a quick warning of seriouse depression thoughts in this chapter, also graphic depiction of blood and injury. 
> 
> On a brighter note, this is the last of the "hurt" part in this fic, from the next chapter on we have a change of pace and scenery. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy what is coming! Mind the tags as usual, we love you all - keep those comment coming, we bask in them! ^_^

**Chapter 8**

Aziraphale loved Crowley dearly and he knew that he was only trying to help him, but he was wrong, about Aziraphale and God and the punishment. Aziraphale’s back and shoulders ached from both the tension and the awkward position he was in, he wasn't used to having his wings out for so long. He tried getting comfortable by hugging his pillow close as he laid on his belly, his wings weighing heavily on his back. 

Thoughts scuttled through his head like poisonous scorpions, piercing his heart with their stingers.

He had come a long way since the Armageddon, but now he was afraid again that he might have chosen the wrong path.

The Archangel’s hateful expressions swam into the forefront of his mind. If only he had been better, if only he was true and virtuous, he could have prevented this. He could have protected the shop better, prevented the angels from coming in and finding him unaware and unprepared. He would have been stronger and fought them off, he would have been wiser to evade them, faster so he could run away and never look back.

No matter what Crowley said, he was due to get his just deserts.

His colleagues had insinuated more than once that he was a bad angel that always blundered his way through simple tasks and missions. The sword he gave away that became a tool of wrath, the trifles he hoarded like a dragon, his pride in his magic acts and his dancing, his envy, his lust, his rather conspicuous gluttony - all slowly and steadily dimmed his angelic light and marked him unworthy.

He was broken now from the outside to reflect how broken he was on the inside - for everyone to see.

The Almighty _did_ let Michael, Sandalphon and Uriel in, and She did let them break her imperfect angel. 

His corporation felt heavy, his eyes drooped with exhaustion, not so much an exhaustion from crying but more a deep set fatigue from life, his existence. 

His heart clenched with a painful twinge of guilt. 

Crowley would never abandon him this way.

Now look at _him_ just giving up. 

He brought his knees as close as he could to his chest and buried his face in the pillow, letting the tears fall freely.

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

When he finally went back into the room to check on Aziraphale - not that he was ready to deal with whatever was going on with him or anything, Aziraphale was asleep again, a deep, uncomfortable sleep. His breath was heavy and uneven, little moans escaping him, as though his body insisted on keeping him unconscious through the worst of it. His fingers twisted around the pillow. The air was dense and the room around him felt hot as a sauna - he was pretty sure the heat source was his angel. 

_Good,_ thought Crowley grimly as he slid quickly and efficiently into the routine he knew by now of trying to bring the angel’s fever down, _That, at least, I know how to take care of._

*********

When Aziraphale woke up again, he was in a foul mood. 

In hindsight, Crowley thought that the broken cup with the broken wings sitting on the nightstand might have had something to do with it.

“What is that doing there, Crowley?” his voice was scratchy from sleep but his anger and exhaustion was palpable.

“I had to give you more tea, you were having one of those fits. I grabbed the first cup I could find, I figured you wouldn’t mind since you were asleep” 

“Well, I do mind” Aziraphale bristled “I don’t want to see that…” he looked lost for words for a moment “...that _damned_ mug again” his expression was a mix of childlike petulance and deep hurt, his eyes moist with unshed tears. 

Crowley sighed dramatically, “You’re not damned, Aziraphale”

Aziraphale looked nonplused “I never said that I was” he said defensively. 

“You didn’t have to, your little hissy-fit was enough to clue me in” Crowley was finding it hard to control his temper “You have NOT fallen. This-”

“But it must have been by order of headquarters!” Aziraphale cut him off “This is-

“Are you going to say ‘ineffable’?” Crowley drawled

“Divine punishment” Aziraphale’s voice nearly cracked, he pursed his lips and had he not been leaning on his elbow, he would have crossed his arms as well.

“Thissss issss not. Divine. Fucking. Punishment.” Crowley hissed. 

“Really,” Aziraphale tsked “there’s no need to swear”

“Listen to me, Aziraphale, this was not a punishment from God. This was a brutal, unprovoked attack by three dick Archangels. If you had fallen, believe me you would have known! _I would have known! I went through it, remember???_ _And_ if you want to get better, then you have to snap out of this dumb obsession of yours” _Shit! I went too far._ But in the heat of the moment the words were said and he couldn’t take them back.

Aziraphale blinked and a single tear rolled down over his nose. 

“Uhg, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that” Crowley whispered, not daring to look Aziraphale in the eye.

“No no, old boy, you’re quite right” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet “What was I thinking?” He continued in an irritable mutter. 

Crowley knew he screwed up big time. 

Aziraphale shifted his body, turning his back to Crowley and fell into the pillows with a soft “Owe” like some disgruntled, grounded teenager. 

With his back towards him, Crowey could see clearly that Aziraphale’s wings were in worse shape than he had thought.

The blood had seeped and spread so much into the gauze on Aziraphale’s wings that Crowley had to face the music and change it. 

“Aziraphale” all he got as an answer was a quiet sniffle “Aziraphale, I know you're upset with me right now but I need to change your bandages, ok?”

“Fine” He heard a sigh “if you must”

So Crowley got to work. 

He slowly cut the white material, peeled it away on one wing and recoiled in horror and disgust as a horrible decaying smell hit his nose. 

Mixed with the blood, slimy yellow pus had gathered on every wound that was stitched up and dotted all over the wing where the smaller feathers had been crushed. Crowley grimassed, he suspected that the other wing was just as bad.

_Shit_ he thought. 

He now understood why it was so hard to keep Aziraphale’s fever down. 

His wounds were infected. 

They were emanating heat and the discolouration was a disturbing imitation of a rainbow. Blues and greens blending into dark purples and yellows. He lamented for a moment that he couldn’t just miracle his angel better but alas, life could be a bitch sometimes so Crowley compensated by miracling a damp cloth and dabbed as much of the pus and blood away as he could. 

As he worked, he often checked to see that Aziraphale was still breathing, that he hadn’t discorportated on him. There was infection, sure, but something else deep underneath it. Aziraphale could have willed any illness away by now if there was not something broken inside of him. 

“C’mon, Aziraphale, buck up! Gng! Can't believe I just said that...”

The crevice of his fractured heart widened as he recalled their time together at the Globe Theatre and Aziraphale’s excitement for Hamlet. The thought of Crowley willing to make Hamlet a success just for Aziraphale made him think that he always does things for his angel and perhaps in hindsight it wasn’t the best thing to do, because there are some things that Aziraphale just had to do for himself, Crowley can't always be the one to save him. 

There are some prisons to which only Aziraphale had the key, and Crowley could not help him escape. 

He looked down at Aziraphale’s face once again after he finally secured both wings in fresh gauze. 

Aziraphale wasn't breathing. 

Angels don't really need to breathe, it’s true. Aziraphale had gotten used to doing it among humans over the years. Him not breathing in itself wasn't a concern but it told Crowley that his angel was giving up. His corporation was slowly shutting down and the unnecessary inhaling and exhaling were the first to stop.

“No. No-no-no-no-no, not good” Crowley hurried to the other side of the bed to take a closer look. 

Aziraphale was pale. Paler than usual, a grey tinge coloured his features yet he seemed darker somehow, denser; as if Aziraphale’s inner angelic light was fading. 

*****

The hours went on by, crawling at a snail’s pace. Aziraphale didn’t or wouldn’t wake up, and when he did he was hazy, confused, not sure where or when he was. He deteriorated quickly, no matter how Crowley tried to relieve his physical form. 

_That’s because his physical form isn’t the only thing that’s bleeding and searing, isn’t it?_ and Crowley, as was his custom when confronted with someone else’s suffering, felt immensely utterly, helpless. 

It was getting harder to know whether the angel was asleep or awake; he was barely coherent, muttetring apologies to no one in particular, reaching out for Crowley. The air in the room was heavy with the scent of rotten flesh, fever and despair. 

Crowley buried his face in his hands, fingers pulling at his hair. 

He was losing Aziraphale. 

He was losing his angel. Losing him to fever and infection and all the things that aren't supposed to discorporate an angle, not when his body was strong enough to heal itself. 

But Aziraphale wasn't. 

He was still in pain, more often unconscious than not, that line of pain on his forehead was still visible, his face ever so often crumpled with agony. 

He was shivering, his skin looked sickly grey, his little huffed sighs and moans lacking the energy to even express properly how much it hurts. It shattered Crowley's heart to pieces. 

Crowley was losing his angel, and he was helpless to do anything about it. If he discorporated now, they will never grant him a new body. Not after what they did to the Great Plan. 

Crowley could not imagine a world without his angel. 

He grunted, (because, as you all must know, demons DO NOT SOB).

He couldn't help him. Crowley could not help his angel. He knew Aziraphale could do it. But not on his own. So if Crowley couldn't help him, no one else coul-

Maybe SHE can.

And so, against his better judgment, for the first time in forever, Crowley prayed. 


	11. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have finally got to the chapter that justifies all the Gabriel tags.  
> Have fun, stay safe and we look forward to reading all your lovely comments! <3 <3 <3

**Chapter 9**

_ PING! _

Blue ethereal light emanated from Gabriel’s smartphone. 

Those sleek, delicate, slender things, influenced by human communication were introduced to heaven quite some time ago and Gabriel still felt a flicker of… not pride, Heaven forbid, but a sort of admiration to the little flawless thing. He glanced down to see that he got a new prayer notification. 

**“Lenny, 35, Boston, Massachusetts, USA”**

Swiveling lazaly in his desk chair, one leg crossed over the other, looking all the way like a master at his estate, he clicked to open the file and read, 

> _ “Please, God, I need this meeting to go well”  _

Gabriel frowned and huffed in annoyance.

Sitting up in a more dignified pose he pressed a buzzer on his desk and called into it “Barachiel, can you come over here for a second?” The sentence ended in a question mark, but it wasn’t really a question. 

Barachiel scurried into his office, his arms filled with a heavy looking pile of files.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Can you please tell me,” he said as though he tried to be calm but managed it just barely, “why am I receiving messages like this? Again?” 

The other angel looked politely confused but Gabriel noticed with a twinge of satisfaction that his corporeal face became a shade or two paler. 

“What message is that, Sir?” 

Instead of answering, Gabriel handed his phone to the now somewhat rigid Barachiel, the angel’s eyes skimmed through the offending words which clearly weren't meant to be read by any Archangel, let alone Gabriel. 

“Please, God, I need this meeting to go well”, the Archangel quoted deliberately slowly, stressing every syllable, and then clicked his tongue. 

“Care to tell me why I am receiving spam from your department again? These meniel prayers,” he continued, raising his hand to stop Barachiel as he opened his mouth to speak, “are your responsibility, not mine. I have other work to do.” 

Barachiel looked horrified “I’m so sorry, Archangel Gabriel, sir. I don’t know how that prayer got into your inbox! It won't happen again! I… I’ll personally see to it.” 

“And the sooner you act upon it the better.” Gabriel gave the angel a stern look. With a wave of his hand the file disappeared from his phone and materialised onto Barachiel’s stack of files. “Prayers won’t answer themselves, you know.” 

He got up and went to stand by the floor-to-ceiling-window, giving Barachiel absolutely no doubt that the conversation was at an end. The magnificent skyline sparkled in the perfect sunlight. He heard the angel shuffling out of his office and the door shut with a soft clack. 

_ PING! _

His phone lit up again. 

“ **Sinner’s Prayer”**

_ Now that's more like it _ , he thought.

Gabriel clicked the notification and what he read made him frown deeper, this time in apprehension. 

**“Crowley, 6000+, West End, London, UK”**

Crowley. 

Not just a sinner, an actual demon. 

And not any demon. The one who defied both Heaven and Hell. The one who tempted a servant of the Lord, a certain  _ Principality  _ who’s name still made Gabriel’s angelic essence heat up dangerously. 

_ Crowley.  _

A demon’s prayer must be extremely potent and incredibly intentional in order to reach Heaven, skip the prayer department and be received by the highest authority a prayer can reach because you see, only sincere prayers get sent to them. 

That's something that a lot of humans don’t comprehend in their puny little minds, that it truly is the thought that counts. Doesn't matter if you’ve donated to charity all your life, for example or volunteered at a homeless shelter; if your heart wasn't in it, if you only did it to impress, then none of it counts once you encounter DEATH. 

The Archangel wondered whether he should ignore it, delete it, put it out of his mind and pretend none of it ever happened. A growing bubble of uneasiness settled down inside Gabriel’s chest, sending tendrils of uncertainty to tie his insides in a knot. 

No. This could have strategic importance. 

Those two were unpredictable, and if they will make their move faster than Heaven or Hell, there will be an unbelievable embarrassment to cover up and an amount of paperwork, piling up so high it will make the Olympus look like a little dust pile in the corner of the room. 

Gabriel held his phone like it was about to explode in his palm, and read. 

> _ “Aziraphale doesn't deserve this, you know it! I know you know it! Please jus-.... just make him better. I doubt if a demon’s prayer would even register with head office but I need help! I can’t heal him by myself and he’s getting worse! I know you’ve never answered me before but please make an exception for your best, goodest, sincerest angel that ever existed! I can’t lose him. Please. Look, I--I’m begging you here, righ’? Let him live” _

_ What has this foolish principality gone and done to himself this time?  _ Gabriel’s mind surprised him with that thought, and more so with the pinch of concern he suddenly felt deep under the layers of rage and dismay that were attached to Aziraphale’s name. 

Thinking about him slowly discorporating, alone on earth was not a happy thought, somehow. Or at the very least, less happy than Gabriel thought it would be. For all his faults and his indulgences and his mess-ups, Aziraphale was, well… entertaining, in his own way.

Hardly admitting it to himself, Gabriel noted that though at times his job was a bit more  _ challenging _ with the angel around, he kind of...sort of missed all the shenanigans his wayward angel put him through. Heaven was proving rather dull without him.

As his boss and superior, he couldn't let all those mistakes slide, of course, he was a fucking Archangel after all. The rules were made to be obeyed and he had to set an example. 

He read through the prayer again. 

And then again, still not quite understanding what was going on. Was the foolish Principality sick? Wounded? The questions buzzed about in his head like Beelzebub’s flies around theirs. They say the flies were their punishment. Gabriel thought sometimes that Aziraphale was his, God knows what for. 

So if it wasn't a trap and the demon was sincere then Aziraphale had to be in some sort of trouble. Gabriel had to get to the bottom of this and decided to talk to the person he thought might be behind it.

He calmly sat in his chair again and slowly ran his fingers under the table top and finding what he was looking for, pressed the button. 

With static crackling he heard the voice he was hoping to hear.

“What izzz it”

“You didn’t happen to send any demons to annihilate the Principality Aziraphale by any chance, did you?” 

“No. We didn’t touch that angel zince Armageddon. He’zz your problem, not ourszzz”

“Are you sure?” Gabriel said sternly “You can guarantee that none of your demons went rogue and decided to kill the angel who was responsible for stopping the War?”

“Can you guarantee that none of your angelszz did the szzame? Beelzebub drawled back indignantly.

“Are you suggesting that angels would disobey orders from head office?” 

“No, not szzuggeszzting. Your banished Princzzipality comeszz to mind”

Gabriel was lost for words for a moment. He hadn't considered that. 

It’s true, Aziraphale certainly disobeyed orders during his time on Earth, what was to stop any other angel from doing the same now? 

Then Beelzebub sighed dramatically and spoke again.

“How about you look though the Earth Obszzervation Filezzz and put usz all out of our mizzery” 

They clicked off, leaving Gabriel to contemplate in silence, trying his best to stifle the smirk threatening to reach his face every time he heard that impatient, angry voice coming out of the much smaller dark haired being.

They were a demon for f… for crying out loud. And yet… the Archangel couldn't completely ignore the fact that even exchanging information with them made the burden of Heaven on his shoulders a little less, well, heavy, simply by carrying such a burden themselves. Although their short temper suggested that they carried it far less gracefully than he did, which was natural. Angels, demons and all that. From the look of it, demons seem to have fallen from grace in more than one way. 

He steepled his fingers together and brought them to rest against his lips, the demon lord had a point. He never considered the EOF department as anything worth his time.

All the angels who worked there were weirdos, low-ranked, with little power and zero social skills who just watched humans all day long. It does things to you. Gabriel could not imagine a worse job for an angel. It was Heaven’s lowest department both in hierarchy and floor number. Gabriel didn’t think he had ever been so far below in his entire existence. 

He leaned forward in his chair and pressed the button on his desktop.

“Barachiel, send for Michael. Tell her I want a word”

“Right away, Sir!” came the response.

A few minutes later Michael strode through the door, her elegant stride as quiet as a feline.

“You wanted to see me?” her face, the picture of confident politeness and obedience.

“Yes. I need you to look something up for me in the Earth Observation Files”

Michael’s lips twitched, eyebrows shot up in what seemed to be genuine confusion “The... Earth Observation Files?” 

Was it just him, or was her voice ever so slightly clipped?

“Yes, Michael the EOF. I need you to check up on Aziraphale’s movements from the past… let’s say two weeks? I think that that should be enough”

Michael blinked.”Aziraphale? Really? You want all of his movements?” she asked and still appeared bewildered.

“All of them” Gabriel reiterated and when Michael didn’t answer he added “Now” and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Michael cleared her throat.

“Of course” she answered with a smile stretching on her lips. There was a pause and then “Just so you know, it might take a while to process, what with all the paperwork. You know how it is with the EOFers, everything in triplicate”. 

There was something in her polite smile that Gabriel did not like. It seemed to stretch her face differently somehow, and made an uneasy feeling stir in his chest. That reminded him too much of Michael talking about ‘back channels', smiling mysteriously as she turned to take her leave. 

Gabriel gazed at her with his penetrating purple eyes. Could she possibly be… well,  _ hiding  _ something from him? 

Gabriel pressed on, smiling confidently, the smile he usually reserved for when he wasn’t very happy with his worker’s conduct.

“Well, I am certain that if you mention my name and emphasize the importance of it, they will do their best to speed things up. I want those files on my desk as fast as possible. All of them.” 

It could have been just a trick of the light; a slight shading of a passing cloud. Or it could have been just his eyes, deceived by the thoughts of the strange prayer still buzzing in his mind, filling him with shadows - but he could have sworn for a heartbeat there that Michael might have actually  _ gulped _ . It was a very small movement, and he would have missed it if he wasn’t so on edge and already uneasy.

Gabriel’s uneasiness slowly began to form into suspicion. 

Nodding, Michael turned to leave when Gabriel stopped her. 

“Do you have anything to tell me, Michael?”

Her hand on the door handle, she simply said “No” and walked out. 

As she left the room Gabriel frowned. Something felt wrong, Michael was acting a little strange. 

In a moment’s decision, almost  _ whimsically _ , he got up and walked confidently out of his office. 

Glancing to his left he saw Michael walking towards Uriel, who was hovering over their underling’s work space. instead of heading to the elevators and down to Observation, Micheal pulled Uriel over and whispered urgently in their ear. 

Uriel’s back was towards him so he couldn't see their expression but quite suddenly they beckoned Michael to the corner, talking with frantic gestures. Then they both hurriedly scurried down the hall. 

Now Gabriel knew that something was up. 

The suspicion began to burn now like coals in his gut, turning quickly into anger. It was bad enough to have to endure the mess of one disobedient angel. 

But Michael?  _ Uriel _ ? 

He will not stand for this.    
  


After a long moment of thought it occurred to him that If Michael was hiding something from him and it had something to do with Observation, he probably should beat her to it and see what it’s all about. 

Hopefully, it’s nothing. 

Some misunderstanding, a trifle, an insignificant job she slacked to do. But the persistent feeling in his gut told him that this wasn’t the case here, and for the first time in a long, long, long millennia, he listened to it. 

He headed towards the lifts that would take him down to the second floor and the EOF Department. 

*********

Human souls aren't allowed in this department of Heaven, but if you wanted to know what the Earth Observation Files looks like, imagine a large white stone cathedral with high windows that flooded the hall with bright Heavenly light; at the end of the hall was a huge screen, it’s image split into several smaller screens that each in turn showed a different image.

The walls were lined with an endless amount of shelves stocked with files upon files as far as the eye could see. The space in the middle was divided into two; half was as you’d expect any office to look like, it was filled with small cubicles reminiscent of a beehive. The other half was devoted to rows and rows of workstations, each had a microfilm machine. 

These machines were about five feet tall with a screen at eye level and knobs and dials instead of a keyboard and at each workstation or cubicle was an angel furiously and diligently working to observe and record, documenting the comings and going of Earth.

It all felt rather old and out of date, as though there was no budget to redecorate or upgrade, which was true enough. 

One might have thought that everything in Heaven was top of the range high-tech equipment, but when the yearly budget had been redistributed a hundred and fifty years ago the EOF was left behind somewhere in the early 20th century and had not changed since. 

To an outside observer it might have seemed a very quiet, neat and orderly place. In heaven’s standards though, the noise of hustle and bustle was reminiscent of an old printing press factory. Phones would ring, heels would squeak and clack across the floor, computers and machines would whirr a constant hum and buzz and the angels would chatter and murmur to each other to check, verify or cross reference what they were working on. 

As Gabriel confidently passed through the threshold and walked in like he owns the place (well, in a way he did. He was in charge of it, after all), no one seemed to notice him at first among the general hustle of angels going about. It took a few moments for some angels to recognize him, then stop, stare and silence the colleague they were talking to until a hush fell over the room. 

No one from the upper floors was seen down here in decades, maybe centuries, especially not an Archangel. Sure, they asked for some files to be sent  _ to  _ them, but they were all way too busy and important to come in person. 

Up until now.

All eyes were on him. He didn’t mind, he was used to the attention. He was familiar with this and felt more comfortable. In control. This is how things should be here in Heaven. 

On the main aisle, one of the angels broke the tense silence as he walked towards the Archangel as quickly as possible without running.

“I… I do apologize for the mess, Archangel Gabriel Sir. We were not informed there would be an inspection and... well. I am Remphael” they offered a hand - that had they been human would have been as sweaty as a marathon participant in the middle of July in the Middle East - “I am the head of the Earth Observation Department and I assure you most respectfully that it is an honor and a pleasure to have an entity of magnificence such as yourself in our facilities.”

This was more to Gabriel’s liking. That was the attitude he used to get from low ranking angels. 

“Thank you, Remphael, for this lovely welcome” he shook the offered hand with a strong, steady grip, “I am pleased to see that everything is in order and that everyone is working hard.” 

At that, Remphael beamed.

“However,” Gabriel continued and Remphael’s face sank somewhat, “I’m not here for an inspection. I am actually here to look at some files.”

“I--I can help you, Sir” They said and gestured to Gabriel to follow them to their work station as the rest of the angels suddenly rushed to bury their faces in their screens, appearing for all intents and purposes to be working feverently. 

“What time period, place and or person are you looking for?”

“Last two weeks, angel that goes by the name Aziraphale in London.” 

Gabriel turned at the sound of a gasp from behind him. It came from a petite angel in a work station nearby who looked embarrassed. 

“Sorry” the angel whose name tag claimed her to be Lebbiel, said “But I think I know exactly what you’re looking for, Sir.” 

She shyly beckoned him to her workstation “I have been in charge of observing London for the past thousand and four years and every so often that Principality pops up. Last week there was an incident in his bookshop.” She continued as the Archangel turned to walk towards her workstation, the department manager close at his heels, clearly displeased that his moment of glory was taken away from him by this new development. 

Gabriel who was much taller than all the angels stationed here in the EOF had to lean down so he could see the screen as Lebbiel fiddled with the microfilm machine. 

Gabriel made a face “How come you’re still using these old pieces of junk around here? What happened to your budget?” Gabriel conveniently forgot that  _ he _ happened to their budget, but now he considered cutting from Michael’s celestial wages and get the poor fuckers at EOF some functioning equipment. 

“Here, it’s ready.” said Lebbiel and gestured to Gabriel to step closer and watch the screen. 

The incident unfolded in front of Gabriel one horrific second after the other. 

The wings, safely tucked away on his awkwardly bent back twitched in unconscious sympathy. 

The images confirmed his suspicions yet shook him to the core. 

To his great surprise, Gabriel realized that he was furious, just like he was on the day of the Apocalypse, perhaps even more so. 

True, he was the one who ordered Aziraphale into Hell fire. It seemed, at the time, like a punishment fitting the crime. Something Gabriel had to do. It was his duty, but one that he was more than eager to fulfill at the time. He wanted Aziraphale to step right into the roaring flames. 

He was wrathful. 

Aziraphale had  _ betrayed _ him, deceived him with his timid smiles and his barely contained enthusiasm and his odd fascination with the human world, his seemingly sincere eagerness to “blend in” that Gabriel never understood. Not until he walked into a tailor’s shop for the first time and then he had to admit that there was  _ something  _ to it. Aziraphale, who appeared all innocent, fooled them all, and that felt like a knife between Gabriel’s ribs. 

It hurt, he realized as he watched the angels at his command,  _ his soldiers _ , tearing Aziraphale’s wings apart, holding him down like the humans did to some animals and sometimes to each other. 

Aziraphale’s betrayal hurt, and Gabriel wanted to hurt him back, but not like this. 

Gabriel examined the expressions of his comrades' faces; Uriel’s sneer of contempt and Sandalphon’s visible enjoyment were almost…  _ demonic.  _

It took a lot to faze Gabriel but this was incomprehensible, shocking, unthinkable. His own angels behaving like demons. 

It felt like something in his essence stopped burning all of a sudden, like lava miraculously turning into ice in a matter of milliseconds. 

“ _ Aziraphale doesn’t deserve this”  _ Crowley’s prayer echoed unbidden in his mind. 

Uncalled memories gathered like a brewing storm threatening to flood him. 

The Principality’s hesitant smile, the look of fear and determination as he was given his flaming sword, the amusing way his concentration turned into a frustrated expression as he learned to use it, the way he smiled and joked during training sessions, apologizing to his comrades whenever he delivered a successful blow and laughing wholeheartedly when they got him back. 

His blond hair and white robes shining bright on the walls of Heaven. 

_ Sunshine. _

It was a nickname his fellow trainees gave him, and it stuck. The memory surprised him.The last time Gabriel called him that he was sending him into Hell’s fire. It was the right thing to do. It was for the greater good. 

_ When did heaven come to this?  _

Seeing enough, he straightened up and took a deep breath to calm his anger. 

“How come none of you idiots reported this...this…” for a moment he was lost for words for the second time that day.”...this  _ incident”  _ he spat the word in a hiss that even Crowley would have admired.

“We’re not here to report or judge, Sir. We’re not allowed to.” the petite angel said in a small voice “Only observe and record, those are the rules” 

Gabriel stifled an unbidden, derisive snort. Those were his orders. He did not want to be bothered every hour of the day by a bunch of human trifles. To cover for his… not mistake exactly because he didn’t make  _ those _ , he did what he did best: bark orders and boss everyone around him.

“I want a copy of that” he pointed at the machine where the image was paused depicting one very bloody Principality laying on the floor with three Archangels gripping at his wings “the whole thing, from beginning to end. NOW!”

The little angel squeaked a “Yes-sir” and scurried to the other end of the hall. 

The silence stretched for too long in Gabriel’s opinion and made the whole floor jump as he gave a loud clap with more force than he intended to, a broad smile that did not reach his eyes stretched on his face. 

“Well, I assume that now that we have found what I want, there is no point in keeping you all from your very important work, is there? Please, continue as usual. I’d like to see how your department normally works.” 

“You heard the Archangel, BACK TO WORK! ALL OF YOU!” Remphael shouted at the idle angels and the hall came back to life, although much more quietly than before. 

Gabriel turned to lean on the machine, appearing nonchalant, to wait for his files and folded his arms to his chest. As he looked up he spotted Michael finally making her way down the hall. He mused for a minute or so, mixed emotions and several courses of action spreading in his mind like an ancient map, the dots began to connect as he was cooking up ideas of how to punish his underlings, how to make absolutely certain that no one went behind his back again anytime soon. 

Finally Michael noticed he was there and stopped short. 

Had Aziraphale been there he could have confirmed that the look of surprise mixed with a flicker of horror that was on Michael’s face, was identical to the one she had when “Crowley” hadn’t perished from the Holy water all those months ago. 

She seemed to hesitate, not knowing what to do with herself, so Gabriel decided to make it easy for her.

“Michael!” he spread his arms out in his best imitation of a welcoming gesture “The man of the hour! Just figured that if you are too busy I might as well stretch my legs a bit and bring it myself, right?” he smiled his white smile “these hardworking angels are doing a terrifically efficient job, aren't they?”

He painfully grabbed Remphael’s shoulder and gave him a good shake. The Observation angel looked bewildered, yet beamed with pleasure. 

“Oh, thank you, thank you sir. We are all doing our best here in the Observation department and I…” 

“Yes, thank you Remphael. Good job. All of you.” Gabriel said as the little angel came back with a thick folder and handed it to him.

“Ah! Perfect” he looked Michael in the eye and said “look what I have here!” he flipped through the pages of the file. He did not need to look at Michael now in order to see her distress. He could actually feel it, rolling from her in waves. 

How could he not sense it before? 

“Will you accompany me to my office? There are some things I would like to discuss.” 

“Of course,” Michael said, her tone barely covering her astonishment and discontent. 

“Keep up the good work!” he waved his hand to the head of the Observation department and his employee who stood there too starstruck to answer properly until the doors of the elevators closed.

“Well,” Gabriel gave Michael one of his intimidating smiles, a smile he kept only for rivals. 

“Looks like Aziraphale wasn't the only angel to disobey orders”. To his complete dismay, Michael still had the audacity to look mildly bewildered. 

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean.”

_ She actually thought she could get out of this one. _ And that was the last straw.

“Barachiel,” Gabriel said as he followed Michael out of the elevator, “would you quickly summon Uriel and Sandalphon to my office? I need a conference with them asap.” 

Gabriel’s secretary didn’t need telling twice. He was already on it when Gabriel led Michael into his office.


	12. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Present Gabriel as more than just a villain, no one blinks an eye. Say that Crowley wasn't Raphale before the fall and everyone loses their minds" XD  
> JK  
> Hope you like it, just a quick disclaimer - at some point we mention Raphale as a separate angel from Crowley. 
> 
> Now please be quiet y'all, and let Gabriel work - it's healing time!

**Chapter 10**

The sun came and went, covering the world in thick darkness. The shadows swallowed the bookshop in Soho and everything in it. It was cold now, very cold. 

The warmth faded away along with the angel. 

His angel. 

Crowley sat there, frozen like a hibernating snake, too late to realize he is freezing to death. 

Snakes do not wake up if their shelter gets too cold. They will remain helpless and when the sun finally arrives after a long, cold winter it will fail to wake them again. 

Aziraphale would discorporate any minute now. There was no more warmth within him. 

When his angel is gone, Crowley will do his best to help recorporate him. Of course he will! And he will probably die trying. What chance does he have against all the hosts of Heaven? So for now he just sat there beside Aziraphale, who was dying, as he always lived, agonizingly slowly. 

There were no words, no tears. 

Just frozen fingers combined, that skin on skin contact that kept him in the world for just a few more minutes, only to allow Crowley to say goodbye for God knows how long. Possibly forever. And Crowley knew. He felt it in his bones. He was not strong enough. 

Too deeply absorbed in his angel’s slow discorporation, Crowley hadn't heard the "whoosh" of a miracle a few steps beside him, and when he heard that voice it was already too late. 

"Well, doesn’t he look awful? More than usual, that is.”

Crowley moved to strike, but too late. 

The Archangel was much more powerful, and more experienced. Crowley found himself bruised on the floor after he, apparently, had thrown himself right onto Gabriel, collided with some kind of a celestial shield that Gabriel summoned without so much as a hand gesture and was hurled to the floor with the force of it. 

Paralyzed, eyes wide with horror, he watched one of their most dreaded enemies, whose name Aziraphale always uttered in a lowered voice and somewhat detached manner, hovering around his wounded, dying angel. 

_He is not even going to give me a chance to say goodby_ …Crowley realized with a sinking feeling, like the room suddenly filled with ice water. 

Gabriel was an Archangel of action, not words.

He seemed to examine Aziraphale with a quiet, confident determination, surrounding him like Joshua around the walls of Jericho, taking in the sight without so much as a flinch. 

“This is worse than that time he got his wing stuck in that new shredding machine we put in the office back in 1952, the clumsy idiot. Talk about deus ex machina, right?” 

Crowley’s eyes darted about the dimly lit room, looking for something, anything that might get him out of this situation. Yes, he had abandoned all hope. But that doesn’t mean he would go down without a fight. Aziraphale wouldn’t want him to. Or at least, Aziraphale would appreciate Crowley punching Gabriel in the face for fat-shaming him at least once. 

With a gesture of both his hands, Gabriel lifted Aziraphale’s limp body from the bed, damaged wings held in a comfortable position - comfortable for Gabriel to reach and examine. Gabriel’s hand hovered over the tight bandages around Aziraphale’s wings. 

Aziraphale did not move. Crowley had never seen his angel so fragile.

“Not a bad job on the wings, for a human and a demon.” Gabriel turned Aziraphale over, pale face turned upwards. "That's better. Let’s take a closer look at you, shall we?" 

"If you’re going to hurt him, I swear…” Crowley hissed through gritted teeth, “you sick coward! fight _me_ , not an unconscious, helpless-” 

Crowley cut himself off not because the Archangel had done something to him, but because of what he was about to do to Aziraphale. 

The Archangel closed his eyes and concentrated as a strange, white-blue glow began to shine from his hand, making Crowley’s blood freeze in his veins. 

Gabriel paid him no mind as he placed the large, glowing palm on Aziraphale’s forehead.

“Alright, Let me see what needs fixing, sunshine.”

_Sunshine._

Crowley remembered Gabriel calling him that. It was not a pleasant memory. 

Yet Crowley was not certain what he was seeing anymore. The way Gabriel touched Aziraphale, the tone of his voice. The word was much softer now, like real sunshine after the rain, like a rainbow after the flood. 

Crowley watched silently as Gabriel’s hand closely glided over Aziraphale’s wings, a grimace on his face as he went over the more serious fractures, the ones Crowley suspected caused the infection. 

“This doesn’t look good.” Gabriel muttered half to himself, "Should have bought Raphael along, but… oh well. We’ll work with what we have.” 

“What’s in it for you?” Asked Crowley, eyes narrowed, body tense and coiled waiting for the right moment or the wrong move. 

“That, demon” Gabriel answered, raising a stern finger “is none of your concern.”

He lightly pressed Aziraphale’s limbs to check for other fractures or inner wounds, making a face when he pressed the softer parts. 

“Ugh. Those burns on his arms and legs look nasty too.” he muttered “But that sprain on his wrist can be easily repaired.” 

He looked back up at Crowley. “Now if you just let me focus for five minutes straight there might be a chance that I can still pull him back.” He said impatiently. 

Crowley hissed but did not utter anything else in words. 

“Good. keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, serpent. I don’t trust you but I do trust you want him alive, for all your sins.” 

Gabriel took a deep breath. 

“I hope you are not too far gone.” He said as he brought his glowing hand over Aziraphale’s forehead and concentrated. 

Nothing seemed to happen. 

Aziraphale’s body was still limp and lifeless, and his skin looked even more pale and sickly in the strange, ethereal light emerging from Gabriel’s hand. 

Gabriel then moved his hand slowly and deliberately over Aziraphale’s eyes, his nose, his mouth, and stopped right above his throat, concentrating. 

Still nothing. 

“Which one is his sword arm?" Gabriel asked. 

“Err-right, I think.” said Crowley, thinking of that hand - writing, stirring a teaspoon, threatening a cake with a fork at the Ritz. Not fighting. Never fighting. Unless he had no choice. 

Gabriel nodded and his hand slipped towards Aziraphale’s right arm, carrasing the air above it all the way to the palm of his hand and back again. He did the same with the left arm, the air buzzing around him as he murmured in annoyance, like a housekeeper who can't find the keys they left on the table. 

“Come on, I couldn’t have lost my touch already…” Gabriel's hand hovered next over Aziraphale's chest, above his heart. “It must be here somewhere.”

Gabriel’s hand almost trembled now with what seemed like frustration as still nothing happened. He then went down and reached over Aziraphale’s belly, and that was when Crowley saw it. 

A flicker of pale light, similar to Gabriel’s steady glow only so much weaker, started to glow from within Aziraphale’s corporation. 

That was him, right there. 

His essence. What made Aziraphale… well, Aziraphale, no matter what corporation he was in, in Heaven or on Earth, it was the thin thread that still connected Aziraphale to the world right now, here, with Crowley. It looked ever so weak, yet it was still answering Gabriel's strong, steady light, reaching out. 

“Got it!” beamed Gabriel victoriously, "Of course it’s there, you ridiculous Principality. Should have gone for the stomach first. Where else would a being of intuition and love would keep their essence? Ok, we figured that out. Now for the tricky bit. Hang on, sunshine. This is not going to be pleasant."

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

Aziraphale sank deeper and deeper into darkness. 

He no longer heard Crowley. It was quiet and cold and serene, and Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to climb up anymore. It was not the first time that darkness threatened to swallow him; he just had no more strength to fight it this time. No matter how he tried, the dark armes pulled him down with a crushing embrace, forcing him to leave everything behind - the bookshop, the pain, the world that he loved. Even Crowley. 

And then there was nothing. 

Big empty nothingness inside him and around him, thick as blood, filling his limbs, his chest, his head. He was slowly becoming one with the darkness. No light could penetrate and reach him now. 

Almost no light. 

One distant white-blue glow could still be seen far above him, a cold star in a winter’s night sky. 

Aziraphale watched it, expecting it to fade away like all the other lights did. But this one was persistent, and it stayed as though to mock Aziraphale in his helpless state, unable to let go. 

When the faintest of sounds reached his ears, Aziraphale realized that the distant spot of light was getting larger, closer.

He knew he was not ready for it. 

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

Crowley was still not sure what he was seeing. 

Tired and still bewildered, the scene unfolded before his eyes. It seemed as though time itself stood still, every atom in the room afraid to make the wrong move and cross the Archangel as he worked. 

The glow intensified and seemed to come from within him; unmistakable angelic light that shone brightly, making the demon’s eyes burn and tear up like he was cutting some holy onion for dinner or something. 

He resisted the temptation to put his sunglasses back on. 

If Aziraphale can bear that treatment, so could he. And Aziraphale did, indeed, look uncomfortable under the Archangel’s hands as they approached his hovering corporation. Aziraphale’s fists clenched weakly, wobbling fingers folding just barely, and his head moved a little from side to side as though he was doing his best to squirm and get away but was too weak to do so. 

Gabriel’s strong shoulders were glowing now from within, making Crowley think of the lights in his Bently - strong, reliable, knowing the way, leading him to his destination safely (especially when he was too drunk to drive). 

He thought he might understand what Gabriel was doing. 

Gabriel came out fresh from Heaven, strong and powerful, his essence full of Her light. Aziraphale’s essence was damaged by the amount of physical and emotional turmoil he experienced since the attack. And Gabriel, in a way, recharged him, gave him his powers to heal his own corporation. 

All angels could do that. Some of them were better at it, like Raphael, the healer. Crowley had only pieces and fragments of memories of how it was done and what happens during the healing process. Connecting one’s essence to that of another angel was supposed to be a rather intense experience, some would even say dangerous. At the very least it was uncomfortable, even amongst angels who were the best of friends. 

Gabriel and Aziraphale were never the best of friends. 

The light began to pour in two small streams from Gabriel’s shoulders to his hands, reaching out to the feeble flicker of light within Aziraphale’s corporation. 

The glow flowed through him like water soaking through dry, thirsty earth after a long draught. 

The light reached his chest, his arms, his back, and finally, _finally_ \- his wings. Crowley could hear the cracking of bones becoming defragmented, the soft wet sound of torn blood vessels made anew, new skin growing to cover burnt tissue. 

It was not pleasant for Aziraphale in any way. His distress was plain on his face as Gabriel’s glow reached into him, making Crowley almost jump from his place and shield his angel, as he always did. 

The old, familiar bedroom in the apartment above the bookshop looked like an entirely different place now. 

The shadows were chased away, shelf covered walls seemed so exposed all of a sudden, the angelic light revealed every crumble of dust, every peeled corner on every old, beloved furniture. The space around Crowley felt bigger somehow, like the walls suddenly grew apart and the ceiling detached itself further from the ground. 

Crowley thought that Aziraphale’s den of iniquity had never looked so angelic. 

The light grew further and further, hiding both Gabriel and Aziraphale from Crowley’s sight. The angels in the house were now just two beings made of light, so bright that Crowley had to cover his hurting eyes with trembling hands. 

The light prickled his skin like it was a spray of boiling water, yet he felt something else behind it: a cool, calming breeze blowing softly inside, filling the room with a pure gust that smelled like the first breath he took in the Garden of Eden, more than six thousand years ago. 

Then it was all over. 


	13. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ye saga continues! ;o)

**Chapter 11**

The glow around them began to fade. Dimming slightly with every passing second until Aziraphale’s bedroom looked like it's old self again.

When Crowley opened his eyes, he saw Gabriel smiling triumphantly.

Just like everyone else, Crowley had never seen the Archangel looking so ruffled and exhausted, though Gabriel did his best to hide his heavy breathing and the slight shaking of his hands. Healing like this can take a lot, even from an angel of his rank. 

"Well, it’s been a long time since I did that." He gestured towards Aziraphale as he removed his hand from him, the last of the glow fading. 

Aziraphale was breathing easily now, evenly. There was a light pink and healthy color to his cheeks, his wings tucked away in the ethereal plain again, allowing Gabriel to lay him gently back on the bed, his back against the mattress. 

Crowley quickly covered his angel with the duvet, he knew Aziraphale would be mortified if he ever discovered that Gabriel of all entities had seen him so thoroughly disrobed. An awkward silence started to creep into the space between them. The demon and the Archangel stood in the quiet, dusty old room, that is, until Aziraphale stirred and then moaned softly. 

As they both turned to him, Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered and began to open. He flinched as he saw Gabriel standing beside Crowley. 

“So,” said Gabriel, forcing himself to straighten up, “I guess now that we’re done here...” 

“Oh, no no no no no. You are not going anywhere, Archangel  _ fucking _ Gabriel.” snarked Crowley, “you owe us an explanation.” 

Gabriel’s rage could have intimidated even braver entities than Crowley and it took almost a miracle for Crowley to stand his ground. 

“I owe you nothing, demon.” his voice hardened, “In case you haven't noticed I just saved your-”

"Wait” 

Aziraphale’s voice was weak but it was enough to stop Gabriel in his tracks. He turned to look at the supine angel with what could only be described as just short of an impatient expression on his face. He raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale, prompting him to speak and not waste his time with dull silences.

“I don’t have all day, Aziraphale. What is it?” The softness of his tone almost contradicted his impatience. 

Aziraphale swallowed tiredly, his eyes closed against the pain that lodged in his throat.

“Why?” His voice croaked, he hadn't used it for a long time.

“Why, what?” Gabriel was confused

“Why did you come?”

“Well I would  _ think _ that that was obvious”

Aziraphale frowned in confusion “Ob-obvious?” he looked to Crowley, seeking some sort of support from the demon.

“What we just experienced, should have been enough to enlighten you.” 

“Entertain  _ me _ then,” snarled Crowley with far too many sharp teeth in his fake smile. 

Gabriel looked at the demon like something disgusting that was on the bottom of one of his pristine shoes. 

“You really should have more control over that demon, Aziraphale,” the Archangel snapped rudely. “Look, I saw you were in trouble, I came to make sure you got out of this in one piece and I did. Now if you don’t mind, Heaven is not going to run itself.” 

He stopped short as the big blue  beseeching eyes of his former comrade met his. 

“Fine,” sighed Gabriel, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “You got five minutes.” 

”I’m afraid you have very little choice in the matter, wank-wings, you're gonna stay here for as long as it takes. First of all you are way more exhausted than you care to show, and good luck miracling yourself back to heaven in thissss sssstate. Ssssssecondly, I ssstill don’t trust you assss far as I can throw you, and thirdly, he-we want answers.” 

Gabriel looked from one set of eyes to the other. The yellow pair was filled with wild hostility, the other, the sky-blue pair, with a soft and quiet plea. 

Gabriel’s fists tightened and then released again. The angry tension slipped out of his body, leaving his shoulders slightly bowed and with a hint of a dark shadow under his eyes. Finally he released the long frustrated breath he did not know he was holding. He swayed dangerously, his corporation threatening to give out from under him.

“You’d better sit down,” said Aziraphale, his brows creased in worry. 

“Yea, because if you lose consciousness on the floor you’re gonna stay there.” with a gesture of his hand Crowley ordered one of the chairs to slide, not very gently, under Gabriel. The Archangel sat down with a barely concealed grunt. 

“Good.” said Crowley, “now don’t move.” 

The demon vanished from the room, leaving Aziraphale and Gabriel to examine one another carefully from the corner of their eyes, the air between them thickening like lead with discomfort. 

Gabriel was about to say something, but was interrupted by Crowley’s entrance, fussing over preparing a sitting space for the two of them beside Aziraphale’s bed, while still holding two glasses and a bottle of wine. 

“I don’t…” 

“Sully your body with gross matter, yeah yeah.” said Crowley unimpressed as he set the glasses on a coffee table that appeared out of nowhere and poured the wine. “Well, if it’s good enough for the ‘Son of God’ it’s good enough for you.” 

“You have some nerve, serpent, did you know that?” Gabriel said, but still accepted the glass that the demon set in front of him. “No wonder you were so easily thrown out, you are a handful.” 

Crowley raised his eyebrow “Haven't exactly been around to annoy the almighty the last few…” 

“I’m talking about Lord Beelzebub.” said Gabriel and immediately regretted it as Crowley turned to exchange glances with Aziraphale, eyebrows shot so high it almost threatened to breach Gabriel's office in heaven. 

As though to swallow his words back, the Archangel took a careful sip. The taste was awful but in a way, reviving. He did his best not to choke as the demon drained his glass in one go and watched him with his direct, unnerving gaze. 

“So….w-what made you come down here?” asked Aziraphale weakly. 

Gabriel took another careful sip of his wine, as if weighing his words carefully “I wouldn’t have my host sneaking behind my back, roaming around attacking people and acting like… like…” 

“Like demons?” Crowley deadpanned. 

“Yes.” Gabriel grit his teeth “Like demons. I saw the earth observation files. What Michael and the others did…..doesn't bear thinking about”

“So...they didn’t come here under your orders?” Aziraphale asked nervously. 

“No. My orders were to forget all about the existence of you two and never mention your names ever again.” 

Crowley exchanged another of those knowing glances towards his angel. Aziraphale’s eyes widened in what could have been surprise, but it was hard to tell from that angle.

Gabriel’s gaze moved between the angel and the demon.“You two really thought that those were  _ my  _ orders?”

“Can you really blame me for thinking that?” Aziraphale exclaimed

“Why? Have I ever given you any reason to believe such a thing?”

Aziraphale looked discombobulated “All the time, Gabriel!” His voice broke though he was doing his best to steady it.  _ “You forced me into Hell Fire!” _

“Yeah, but did you die?” Gabriel squinted with an expression Aziraphale knew all too well. 

“That's hardly the point, Gabriel!”

“You  _ did  _ betray all of heaven and went against your own, Aziraphale.” 

“So why are you here now,” Aziraphale’s voice threatened to break, “if I am such a traitor?”

“Like I said, you didn’t die. The almighty, in her divinity, judged in your favour. No harm no foul.”

“Yes, well… but these weren’t her orders either, were they? To come here and tend to my injuries? You are here on your own behalf?” 

“Yeah, I suppose.” said Gabriel as though Aziraphale was an especially dense pupil. 

“But why? W-we had never gotten along even before Armageddon failed.” 

“Nonsense! We’ve always gotten along!” 

Crowley was amazed that Aziraphale actually snorted.

“‘Gotten along’ indeed. You mean to tell me that you and the others never ridiculed me behind my back? ‘How do you solve a problem like Aziraphale’ and such like?”

“That was just light banter” Gabriel snickered not unkindly “It was funny!” his confident smile appeared again.

“Well, no, it wasn't funny, Gabriel”

“Come on!” he said exasperatedly “We were just teasing! And most of it was behind your back anyway. It wasn't hurting anyone” 

“But it was!” Aziraphale’s voice grew in pitch. “It was hurting m…me!” 

“You are just being a little too sensitive, is all” Gabriel shrugged 

“I’m an angel, being sensitive is part of my job” 

Now it was Gabriel’s turn to snort. 

Aziraphale continued “Yes, that’s exactly what you do. Dismissing what I say, ignoring my input when it comes to the affairs of earth.”

“I have the entirety of Heaven to run, Aziraphale. You, here, on earth cannot always see the big picture like I do.” 

“But that doesn't change the fact that you and the others….you and the others were...were..” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath and plunged on before he lost his nerve “were always bullying me” 

“Bully you?!” Gabriel exclaimed, affronted “You are using very harsh words, Aziraphale. Last time I checked  _ you  _ betrayed  _ me _ , uh, I mean Heaven” 

Was that hurt in the Archangel’s eyes? 

“But even before that,” Aziraphale’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears now, “You and the others always looked down on me…”

“You were stationed on earth, where did you want us to look at you from?” 

Crowley, who was watching them silently from his seat until now, ready to leap to Aziraphale’s aid at any given moment, pulled at his hair in  aggravation .

“Again, not the point, Gabriel.” Aziraphale held the bridge of his nose frustratedly “you all make fun of me, telling me to lose weight… the last time you saw me you made it very clear that you wanted me… gone.” 

Crowley had told him about what happened in Heaven after a long argument. Aziraphale wanted to know. He had to know and eventually he drew the truth out of Crowley. He felt a pang in his healing wings. This is what has been bothering him all the time. This is where it hurt the most. Heaven had no compassion for him. 

“That was said in the heat of the moment” Gabriel said imperiously. “I already told you, it was looked over and forgotten. Moving forward. Why can’t you?” 

“Because…I’m broken!” Aziraphale shook with emotion, tears rolled down his round cheeks “You all made that very clear.”

“Broken?” Gabriel’s face went through several expressions of emotion, from utter confusion to denial, and settled finally on something that no angel had seen for a long time, something somewhat softer. 

“There are no ‘broken angels’ Aziraphale. There are angels and demons and that’s that. God does not create ‘broken angels’. 

“But I’m a disappointment!” He almost whined.

“You’re a bit odd I’ll give you that but you’ve been down here for so long, what can you expect? And you should see some of the angels who work for the Observation department.” 

Azirapahle’s eyes widened in trepidation at his ex-boss’s admission and slowly pulled himself up to sit comfortably against the pool of pillows behind him “So  you don’t think I’m a…”

“Lord, no. Come on sunshine, you’ve always been a bit of a goof-ball but I thought you knew better.” 

Gabriel tapped his fingertips on the table and for a few long moments seemed to wrestle with himself. His other hand went to his temple pensively. His discomfort was new and extremely strange to Aziraphale, it was like seeing an Evangelical preacher arguing with himself about blasphemous ideas about the end of days on national tv.

“You have to understand, Aziraphale, you have a tendency to get carried away.” Gabriel sighed “I always have to cover for you, the budget for your frivolous miracles has to come from somewhere, you know!” 

Aziraphale squirmed guiltily.

“Do you know how many times I defended you up there? When the others thought I should have replaced you hundreds of times? Do you think that your mistakes and your little mishaps went completely unnoticed?” 

Aziraphale bit his lip and lowered his eyes in embarrassment. 

“Your interest in the human world has caused Heaven quite a bit of paperwork and quite a lot of headaches for me.” Gabriel inhaled deeply “You were often unattentive, and have a horrible tendency to take matters into your own hands regardless of your or-orders...which made you….. come to think of it…..a rather good field agent.” his eyebrows shot up and the look in his purple eyes reflected how the realisation sank in as he spoke. 

“Come on, do you think I’d let you keep your position as our agent on earth if I thought you were too cracked up to do the job? You were supposed to get a good conduct medal for heaven’s sake. But you were out at the time, so you never got it.” Gabriel smirked in amusement. 

“Wha… really?” Aziraphale’s note of pride was hard to miss, two compliments from Gabriel within two minutes of talking was a new record. “Even though I got myself into trouble in France? And that time I paid Mr. Wilde’s debts in all those fine restaurants in town? Or-or the time I got the maps wrong and accidently led the people of Israel in the desert for forty years?” 

“That was you?” Gabriel shook his head, tried - and failed to stifle a smile. “Sandalphon insisted that it was their sins that got them punished but it looks like you were enough of a punishment after all.” Gabriel now laughed openly. 

Crowley snickered and Aziraphale blushed.

“And anyway - despite being the goofball that you are from time to time we were rather pleased with your work. But then you had to go and… and... “ He stopped himself and the air of discomfort about him seemed to grow, surrounding him like a halo. 

The tension returned to Gabriel’s expression and shoulders, he clenched his fists and released them several times, Aziraphale recognised it as a typical Gabriel mannerism. The Archangel shot a glance that was almost nervous towards the demon. 

“Can’t we do this another time? I really don’t-” 

“No time like the present.” smiled Crowley unhelpfully. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes and then turned to Aziraphale. “Y-you know what I’m trying to say... don’t you?” 

For a long silent moment their eyes met.

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

Angelic healing was, simply put, a process in which one angel poured power from their essence into the essence of their fellow angel, so their vessels, if they had one, could heal themselves. There were angel’s who were experts in the process and could go through it without pouring too much of their emotions along with their powers. 

Gabriel was not one of them. 

Angelic healing could be dangerous, if not done right. It could have left the healer quite vulnerable. Gabriel was living proof of that, leaning tiredly in his chair, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes. 

Aziraphale vaguely remembered the connection they shared as Gabriel was healing him. Yet as Gabriel met his eyes Aziraphale could only recall a growing uneasiness in his chest, a flood of unpleasant memories that were not quite his own swirled within him, poured from Gabriel to Aziraphale uncontrollably.

A confidence that he rarely felt in his existence turned in his chest into fear and doubt like soured milk. The feeling of helpless rage he was not accustomed to, threatened to drown him with fury. He felt loss, disappointment, and then a strong, sudden emotion of betrayal threatened to turn his insides into acid. Aziraphale saw the image of himself formed in Gabriel’s mind after the failed apocalypse and it was not a happy image to look at. He felt burdened and hollow at the same time. 

_ This is what it was like for Gabriel?  _

Aziraphale realized with a pang of regret that he was always so busy being afraid, that he never even bothered himself with the thought of what it was like for Gabriel. Somewhere deep inside his mind Aziraphale knew he could be rather selfish at times, even thoughtless. A perfect bastard, as Crowley would say. He was without a doubt, thoughtless towards Crowley during the times leading to Armageddon - telling him they are not friends and refusing to admit that they had their own side, but it never occurred to him that he might have to rethink his feelings towards  _ Gabriel _ . 

Gabriel, who always looked down upon him with a cold gaze, expecting an answer that was never good enough. Gabriel who was rarely impressed by him, whose approval Aziraphale had always craved and never received wholeheartedly. Gabriel who was a harsh commander, pedantic, demanding and unforgiving. 

There was something different now, between them, that Aziraphale couldn’t quite define or fully understand, that enabled him to see things from Gabriel’s point of view. He must have been so lonely, as Heaven’s leader.

Now as Aziraphale looked to Gabriel he saw that the Archangel was recalling the same experience from the connection, seeing things for the first time through Aziraphale’s world. 

“You… were afraid of me.” It wasn't a question.

Aziraphale’s silence was enough of a confirmation. 

There was no mistaking the hurt in Gabriel’s expression now. 

“I… never meant to.. to bully you. As you say. I wanted discipline and order. Obedience. Not fear. Not from you.”

Aziraphale took a deep and shaky breath. 

“Yes, I-I understand that now.” he said in a very small, quiet voice as he twiddled his thumbs. “So you don't… don't despise me? O-on a personal level?” 

“Well, you know that I don’t like to gush but, sure? I don't have anything  _ against  _ you. I was… am.. disappointed, somewhat. I thought you’d... I had expected you to… well,” he steadied himself with a deep breath. “look up to me. But you went in a different direction and I guess that’s…” 

“Ineffable?” suggested Crowley who was watching the pair like they were the world’s most interesting tennis championship. 

“Whatever. Are we clear on it now?” 

“It’s not true, you know.” Aziraphale cleared his throat “I-I always looked up to you, all I wanted was for you to be proud of me” Aziraphale’s eyes were glued to his nails, which really needed another manicure, he thought distractedly. 

Gabriel’s strong features softened. “That’s…. ” he said with a hesitant smile, “that’s good to know.” 

“Alrigh’, alrigh’. Stop before you two start snogging. Do you, Aziraphale, forgive Gabriel for all his sins?” 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but admire the way in which Crowley took every awkward situation and made it even worse. 

“Crowley my dear, please... “ He turned to Gabriel. “Do you…?” 

“Er, yeah, of course” Gabriel’s quick reply was enough to reveal his discomfort. 

Aziraphale smiled. “Good,” he said, “I forgive you, and I’m also sorry….for what it’s worth”

“You know what they say, it’s water over the bridge, right?” He flashed a white toothy grin.

“That’s not…” 

“Hush, Crowley.” 

“Anything else?” Gabriel drained the wine from his glass and made a face, preparing to rise from his seat. “Still nasty stuff but at least it doesn’t taste like feet anymore. I have quite an amount of paperwork to see to, as always when you two are involved.”

“Right.” said Crowley, still fixing Gabriel with his gaze, still inspecting him with slightly less suspicion than before.

“Wait, Gabriel….” Aziraphale raised a tired hand to stop him “W-what will you do about them now? Michael and the others?” 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, sunshine.” 

“I beg to differ,” Crowley leaned closer, looking tense again like a snake ready to attack, “we need to know that they won’t come back”

Gabriel breathed impatiently. 

“They have been thoroughly punished.”

The shock of this statement made Aziraphale shoot up to a sitting position, his hand covering his mouth.

“W-what? But… But that’s… N-NO! Oh, no!” He cried in alarm and horror. The pain of others momentarily taking precedence over his own.

Gabriel sighed. “Relax, no one has fallen for over six thousand years. The Archangels will be sent to spend some very boring decades in the Earth Observation Files Department, under the keen eye of Remphael. A very… eager fellow. Does that satisfy you?” 

Aziraphale’s body slumped back down into the pillows, a relieved sigh escaping his lips.

With another grunt, looking tired yet lighter somehow, Gabriel rose from his chair and approached Aziraphale’s bedside. 

“Take it easy, sunshine.” 

Gabriel made a move to thump a friendly one on Aziraphale’s shoulder but stopped himself as Aziraphale flinched. Crowley half rose from his chair but froze as Aziraphale’s soft voice muttered,

“Sorry, I… don’t really like it w-when you do that.” 

“Right, yeah. Of course.” Gabriel drew his hand back, and clasped them together with a loud clap and made for the door.

“It’ll take a day or two for all those wounds of yours to heal properly. I trust you’ll be alright in a few days. Keep the bandages on until then. Can’t hurt. Well, it might hurt. But, you know. Corporations aren't really my department.” 

With his hand on the door handle he turned with a smile and a glint in his eye “Hey, maybe I’ll see you around at the park, see if I can convince you to join me for a run.” 

Gabriel left, closing the door behind him.

“Not a chance.” Aziraphale tsked and rolled his eyes.

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

Crowley chuckled and then as if a switch had flipped he himself dashed to the door and threw over his shoulder a quick “Be back in a sec, angel” 

Sprinting down the spiral staircase he caught up to Gabriel at the shop entrance.

Gabriel turned to look at him. 

“It’s been a long day,” he said exasperatedly, “make it quick or not at all, demon”

“Fine, I’ll get to the point then. You do care for him, don’t you? In your own, ssspecial way?” 

Gabriel’s cheeks turned slightly pink.

“Yes, alright,” said Gabriel and looked as uncomfortable as Crowley had ever seen him,"Tell the whole blessed world, why don't you?" 

Crowley almost smiled.

“Oh, and if you breathe a word of this” Gabriel’s threatening finger was held menacingly in Crowley’s face “I will personally and  _ painfully _ eliminate you” 

“Jesssus, you're so full of it, Gabriel!” Crowley grinned.

“Shut it, Hell spawn”

And with a blink of an eye, he was gone.

“Little feathered shit” muttered Crowley before heading back upstairs. 


	14. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, you've made it - this is comfort time! Also, fussy angel is fussy. Enjoy the floof!

**Chapter 12**

As Crowley returned to the room, Aziraphale extended his arm towards his love.

“Crowley,” he beckoned with so much tenderness in his eyes that the demon’s heart threatened to drown the entire city with his emotions. “You look awfully worn out my dear. Why don't you come into bed with me?” 

Crowley could never deny his angel anything and so he quickly grabbed his plump palm and came to sit on the bed next to Aziraphale. 

“You sure, angel? Your wings are still healing.” 

“They’ll heal better when I hold you…” 

_The audacity of this blessed angel,_ thought Crowley as he miracled himself into a set of comfortable boxers, how dare he blush so invitingly in such a moment, undoing Crowley so utterly and completely? 

Cradling the demon in his arms, Aziraphale breathed and smiled contently, appreciating how comfortable he was; the duvet was warm around him, his demon was nestling against him and besides a slight ache in his back and a general, heavy fatigue in his limbs that was not altogether unpleasant, he felt better than he did all week.

He was already sliding over the edge of wakefulness when he heard his own voice murmur 

“Have I fallen?” 

And a soft soothing answer came from somewhere deep in his consciousness:

“No angel, you are bright still”

As soon as Aziraphale leaned back he was already fast asleep. He slept deeply and soundly, while in another plain of existence his wings were starting to heal. 

*********

The corner of the shelf was dark and dreary. A small layer of dust gathered upon and around it. It stood there, quiet, obedient, in silent expectation. There was no rush. It had all the time in the world. It will be waiting for him in that dark corner, until he is ready. 

**~~~~~OOOOO~~~~~**

The days that followed saw Aziraphale slowly brightening up. 

The day after Gabriel left, the late evening sky saw the two of them sharing their first meal together in what felt like decades. 

Crowley somehow managed to persuade Aziraphale’s favorite sushi restaurant to deliver to the bookshop (It probably helped that the owner was actually quite worried when Aziraphale-san didn’t show up this week). Aziraphale beamed in delight at the sight of the feast in Crowley’s hands and gazed at him lovingly. 

“You’ll spoil me rotten, my dear, if you’re not careful” he said with a glint in his eye.

“You’re _already_ rotten, angel” Crowley teased as he placed the food-packs on the bed.

“Not as rotten as you” Aziraphale reached out for a pair of chopsticks “now hand me the food before I start eating _you_ ” Crowley snorted and handed him a platter of sushi rolls.

He then proceeded to spread all the food out on the bed like a picnic. 

A few hours later when not a crumb was left unconsumed and not a drop of wine left undrunk, Aziraphale leaned comfortably with his back to the soft, fluffy pillows and sighed with satisfaction, basking in the feeling of a full belly once again. It was a good thing he wasn’t wearing any trousers, he thought, otherwise he would have been reduced into loosening his belt which he hated doing. _So uncouth._

They talked well into the night about everything and nothing. It felt good to not worry about Archangels or fevers, their conversation was easy and light. 

When the first rays of sunshine started peaking through the windows Aziraphale finally started to feel drowsy, a sure sign that he wasn’t quite back to his old self yet. Crowley cleared the remains of their supper away and tenderly tucked the angel in. For the first time in a while, Aziraphale didn’t dream.

*********

When he woke up, the room was washed in bright yellow, the sounds of the hustle and bustle on the Soho streets trickled in through the open window and a light breeze teased the curtains. 

Aziraphale yawned prodigiously and lazily rubbed at his eyes. He felt calm and rested and he was raring to get up, get dressed and go down to tend to his precious books once again. 

Unfortunately his body had other ideas. 

As he straightened himself, he unthinkingly stretched out his bandaged arms and arched his back, sending a flash of pain to shoot down from his shoulder blades right down to his tailbone. 

He sucked in through gritted teeth and doubled over at the exact same moment when the bedroom door opened and Crowley walked in.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he held his knees tightly against his chest, eyes screwed shut. Crowley’s long fingers clutched his shoulder.

“What’s wrong? Is it your wings?”

“I-I’m not sure” Aziraphale slowly sat back, trying to relax his body “It could be”

“Let me have a look then. Who knows what Gabriel, that wanker, did to you”

“Really, dear,” Aziraphale tsked “there’s no need to call him that _every_ single time you mention his name”

“Force of habit.” Crowley shot back “Now let's get you up” 

He pulled the duvet off and helped Aziraphale sit on the edge of the bed.

“Stop fussing, Crowley, I’m alright” the angel’s back still curved in on himself.

“Mhm,” the demon said absentmindedly “You’re gonna have to take your wings out I’m’fraid” 

Aziraphale did as he was told, his back and shoulders uncharacteristically hunched, bracing himself against the weight of his wings as they manifested into earth’s existence. 

Crowley, sat behind him on the bed and slowly started unwrapping the bandages from his wings. He heard the sigh of relief that escaped his demon's lips. 

“How do they look?” Aziraphale turned his head this way and that, trying to get a glimpse.

“Uh, yes, yup. Lookin’ good. Well, lookin’ better at least” he felt Crowley running his hands over the protruding new pin feathers that started growing back where Jenny, the LWP volunteer had to pluck them to stitch up where the bone had gouged through his skin. 

“You probably just pulled a muscle” 

Aziraphale shivered at the touch. He closed his eyes so he could focus, moved them a little and winced. 

_Healing. Not healed yet._

His wings prickled and itched but in a good way. It meant that his feathers were growing back and that they probably needed grooming.

The image of Crowley grooming his wings once again floated in his mind’s eye, a small smile tugged at his lips. He shivered again. 

_No, not yet,_ he wasn't ready. 

Aziraphale knew logicly that there isn't any problem with Crowley grooming him, that there never was anything wrong with it, yet he still felt hesitant in letting himself indulge in such a frivolous activity so soon. The memory of rough hands meddling with his wings gnawed at him like a parasite wriggling in his mind, a fresh wound that was yet to heal. 

“Do you want me to... groom them for you?” Aziraphale noted his hesitancy. 

“Better not.” his wings twitched “Perhaps some other time”

“Sure, yea, feathers still need to grow and such.” Said Crowley, with a wave of his hand, not quite looking at him as Aziraphale returned his wings to heal in the celestial plane of existence. 

“D’you, um-want me to take a look at the other bandages?” he gestured towards Aziraphale’s arms and legs. 

Aziraphale nodded assent and Crowley came to kneel in front of him and started to peel the bandages off his calves. Crowley glanced up and gave his angel a small smile.

He continued his ministrations on Aziraphale’s legs and examined the remains of the burns the chains had left on them, gently prodding here and there.

“Does that hurt?”

“A little” Aziraphale winced “but not as bad as it was.”

“Do you want me to put some cream on them?” the demon suggested. Aziraphale was surprised to find himself wiggling in anticipation.

“Uhm…” he cleared his throat “Y-yes. Yes. Splendid idea, Crowley. Splendid. Yes, you could rub..uh” he cleared his throat again and tilted his head “rub some cream a-and...uh…yes… cream” 

Crowley, looking somewhat amused, pulled a chair over and continued to peel away the bandages, this time from the angel’s arms. 

“Do you think we could leave the bandages off-aah!” Aziraphale hissed and pulled away as Crowley touched his sprained wrist. Though it was not as swollen as it was a few days ago, the bruising had faded to a light shade of purple.

“Sorry” Crowley was quick to apologize “Yeah, not a bad idea” he snapped his fingers and a grey tub of cream appeared in the demon’s hand. 

Aziraphale got rather distracted and stared as Crowley screwed the lid open and scooped a dollop of cream with two fingers. He breathed heavily in the silence while Crowley slowly spread the white goop over his forearms all the while gently massaging them.   
  


The touch was… pleasant. _Really_ pleasant, way more than he had expected. Aziraphale absentmindedly brushed his fingers against his neck looking to tug at his collar had he been wearing one. Crowley then lifted one soft ankle onto his lap and gave it the same treatment, slowly rubbing the cream into the burned tissue - just like Aziraphale had done way back in 1941.

“This alrigh’ angel?” 

The angel nodded perhaps a bit too quickly, and clutched at the mattress, his knuckles turning white, he closed his eyes against the blush that heated his cheeks but quickly opened them again. The memory of being forced onto the wooden floor of his shop as chains pulled at his limbs flashed before him unbidden in his treacherous mind. Aziraphale focused his gaze on Crowley’s face, down his toned arm and settled on his dexterous fingers, massaging and stretching the hardened skin on his legs.

When the cream had been rubbed so thoroughly that one couldn't see it any more, Crowley stood up and said “D’you want me to do your back now?” 

“Er…” Aziraphale hesitated. 

He knew that he _wanted_ Crowley to massage his back but he was afraid of what it might remind him of. Throughout the attack he was face down on the floor. He didn't want what should be a pleasant experience be tainted by foul memories.

The angel looked up with uncertain eyes, he couldn't trust his voice at the moment.

“Do you wanna stay sitting up while I do your back?”

Aziraphale swallowed. 

“Yes...I think...I might….quite…..indeed...that would be...ad-adequate”

He still couldn't bring himself to speak coherently quite yet it seemed. Instead he just found himself settling, legs crossed on the bed with his back towards Crowley. 

The demon laid his hands on Aziraphale’s broad back feeling around for the tense muscle. Upon finding it he pressed gently, moving his thumb in a circular motion which elicited a small sound from the angel’s lips.

“Feels good?” 

“Mmmmm” 

“Not too rough?” 

“No, no I'll get used to it” he grimaced. 

Crowley eased off a little and slowly traveled from shoulder to shoulder down to Aziraphale’s lower back which made him arch his back with pleasure in response.

“That’s it. Lot’s of tension there” he said as his fingers pressed into a specifically tight spot. 

“Awww… yes, rather” the angel breathed.

It was _...good._

Aziraphale almost basked in how _normal_ Crowley’s touch felt. Crowley’s scent was all around him, chasing away the shadows that lurked in the back of his mind, keeping him safe. Grounded. Crowley’s hands on his back felt _right_. He felt like home. 

“D’you…” Aziraphale began, his voice fluttered in his throat, “you wouldn’t mind if I… that is… if I...lie myself down for a few moments? While you…” he cleared his throat “...continue?” 

“Sure angel” Crowley’s smile was way too knowing in Aziraphale’s opinion but he was too far gone to care anymore. 

He spread himself primly over the blanket and grabbed a pillow to rest on. Crowley resumed his ministrations, Aziraphale’s skin supple and yielding beneath his fingers. This time, Crowley was convinced that the angel’s moaning could be heard both up in Heaven and all the way down in Hell. 

“You want some oysters with that?” 

“Pardon?” 

“It's not a sodding roman bath, angel!!!!!”

Aziraphale gave a little surprised squeak when he realised that Crowley climbed on top of him and boldly made himself comfortable on the angel’s soft behind. 

_The audacity of that demon!_ he thought.

Aziraphale made another involuntary noise as Crowley’s hands continued massaging all the kinks out of his stiff muscles. He clutched the pillow, practically squeezing the stuffing out of it and gave a small moan.

“You alright there, angel?”

“Nyaa” was all that came out.

“What was that?” Aziraphale could hear the laughter in his voice. 

_That whiley serpent! He’s doing this on purpose!_

When he finally finished working on his back, the angel’s limbs felt almost liquid. And when Crowley climbed off of him he shivered as the cool air touched his skin where all this time a demon had been sitting. 

Crowley sniggered. “I don’t think you’ve been properly dressed for weeks now, angel. Not that I mind the concept in general but I think you’d be more comfortable that way” 

“Oh!” said Aziraphale in surprise “I honestly hadn't thought of it”

The demon snapped his fingers and very fluffy, very tartan pyjamas wrapped the angel in warmth. The angel breathed in the cozy scent of the wool and snuggled back under the covers.

Crowley checked his temperature, just in case.

“Can I...get you anything? Anything you like”

“Mmm...no..well...maybe just a small cup of cocoa”

“Sure, angle” he kissed him on the forehead, got up, and as he reached the door Aziraphale called after him, 

“would you mind adding some whipped cream in it as well?”

“No problem”

“Oh, there’s a small jar of cinnamon in the spice rack, could you please sprinkle some on top?”

“Cinnamon, spice rack, sprinkle, got it”

“Oh and-!” 

The door slammed shut before he could finish his sentence, but Crowley got him the chocolate digestive biscuits he wanted anyway. 

Maybe staying in bed for a few extra days wouldn't be so bad after all. 

*********

The last rays of daylight bounced off it’s curved surface, the dust particles dancing in the sunbeams in a devine choreography. Another day went by, darkening around it in the small, cramped room. The shadows grew longer, covering the walls. And still it stood sentry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves - next one's the last one! :)


	15. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something was coming to an end. Not the world, exactly.   
> Just this fanfic.
> 
> Thank you so much for being here with us and for your kind words that kept us going.  
> We hope this last chapter is as satisfying for you to read as it was for us to write.
> 
> We love you, mind how you go <3

**Chapter 13**

One afternoon, as Crowley came back from a very needed plant-yelling in his apartment, he found the angel in tears.

_ Oh no. _

Aziraphale was still in his bed, wearing his old, beloved robe, sitting promptly against the headboard, sniffling quietly and wiping his red, swollen eyes with a handkerchief that had his initials A. Z. F. embroidered on its margins. 

"Angel, shit, I knew something was wrong! Should never have bloody left”  _ how fucking stupid  _ “what happened?"

Crowley rushed to his side in an instant, arms open and ready to comfort, already regretting the shadow of thought that began to cross his mind yesterday, that his bastard of an angel was enjoying the benefits of his condition a slightly bit too much. Clearly, he was still not ready to be up and about just yet.

"Crowley!" he wiped his eyes once more and looked at his beloved, "I am ever so sorry, dear boy. I didn’t mean to startle you."

"What’s the matter? Are you hurt? Is it your back? Did you have another nightmare?"

"No, no," Aziraphale replied with a wobbly laugh, “nothing of the sort, I'm quite alright I assure you." he blew his nose somewhat noisily for such a refined being as himself. "I was just doing some reading."

"What were you reading," breathed Crowley, forcing his heart to slow down it's beating, "the news?"

"Of course not, heaven forbid. Just..."

He hesitated, and then the demon noticed he was holding the book face down so Crowley can't see the cover. He sighed.

"Is this 'The Happy Prince' again?"

"It's 'The Happy Prince' again." Admitted the angel, somewhat sheepishly.

Crowley's resentment for Oscar Wilde, which was already off the charts for making his angel cry, in all kinds of ways, increased a few degrees hotter.

The demon held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his finger.

"Why were you reading that depressing, melancholic, heart wrenching piece of sentimental rubbish again?"

"Oh, Oscar is not and you know it” said the angel, flustered, "you cry all the time when we read,..."

"Yea, yea. Not the issue here. Just... are you okay?" his voice softened.

"Perfectly fine, love. Apologies again for giving you such a terrible fright, what with everything that happened and all." 

"Don't worry 'bout it." 

For a moment or two they sat in silence. Crowley studied his angel's face as he stroked the book's cover. Aziraphale’s delicate plump fingers hovered over the little Swallow lying helpless at the statue's feet.

"You sure you're alright? Don't need anything?"

"No, I..." he hesitated for a few seconds and said "Crowley?"

"Hmmm?"

“Am I… too much sometimes?” 

“You… wot?” His eyebrows threatened to invade Gabriel’s office in Heaven once again.

“You always go out of your way to care for me, and you treat me so well even though you’ve been through a lot yourself. A-and I - I can be a handful sometimes...G-gabriel-” 

“Sod the wanker, what does he know!” 

“Wait, Crowley… let me finish. Please?”

“Alrigh’ but there’s only so much self reproaching I can handle, ok angel? Jus’... you know, get it over and done with so I can tell you for an hour and a half just how bloody wrong you are.”

“Well then,” smiled the angel, “I’ll take what I can get. I hurt you, love. Things were said that should not have been said…” 

“You were in pain! Feverish! You can’t really blame yourself for...”

“Crowley, you promised!” 

“Righ’. Sorry. Carry on with your extremely wrong opinions.” 

“I just…” Aziraphale’s hand hovered again over the tiny, delicate swallow on the cover of Wilde’s book, the one that will never get to see Egypt but instead will be reaching straight to heaven. “I wanted to make sure that my… broken wings don’t hold you down.” 

He bit his lower lip, a known and beloved anxious gesture that made Crowley want to scream and tear whatever made his angel anxious with his bare hands. “If I am not wearing you out, o-or draining you in any sort of way.” 

Ah. So this was the matter. Not a problem Crowley could solve by tearing something apart with his hands. 

No. He will have to tackle this with words, which were a much more treacherous territory. He managed to get them wrong more often than not. 

But he had to try. For Aziraphale. 

“You’re not,” he said, sitting on the bed, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. “And if you are holding me down it’s because I want you to. You ground me. Prevent me from floating endlessly into the void that is the universe without you. I  _ want  _ you to hold me down.”

He said and planted a kiss on Aziraphale's forehead, tightening his grip like a snake around it’s meal.

“I want you to hold me up,” another kiss, this time on his nose. 

“I want you to hold me sideways,” he moved to kiss that sensitive spot just behind his angel’s ear, the one that made Aziraphale make the most precious little sound between pleasure and an indignant huff. 

“You are not a burden, angel. You are a haven.” 

He kissed the soft skin on Aziraphale’s neck, right under his jaw and the angel giggled uncontrollably. 

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale, finding he had a lap full of demon all of a sudden, “I will never be able to have a serious conversation with you without snogging, will I?” 

“Nope!” Murmured Crowley into a padded, comfortable shoulder while his greedy hands slid  _ everywhere _ , finding handfuls of yielding flesh wherever they went. 

But just as Aziraphale pulled him close with a clear intention of lying down, it all stopped at once. 

Crowley got up, straightening his clothes. 

“No, no.” he said in answer to Aziraphale’s whine of protest, “you are still recovering, m’love. You need your rest.” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth. 

Then closed it again. 

He looked ready to jump off the bed and pull Crowley back to him again, but the sheets were so comfortable…he leaned back on his fortress of pillows, defeated, yet his eyes were sparkling with amusement as he grabbed back his book and resumed his reading.

*********

The next morning found him still in bed, after he sent Crowley out into the rain to get him the special pastries that his favorite caffe served every second Tuesday of the month. 

Crowley came back wet and shivering but with the box safe in his hands, and then busied himself watering - and threatening - the few pot plants that somehow migrated from his flat into Aziraphale’s room. He thought, quite rightly, that some greenery and flowers around would do his angel good. 

Aziraphale was reading again, not The Happy Prince this time, judging by the soft, quiet laughter that escaped him from time to time, making his round belly shake in a way that Crowley found very inviting. 

He resisted the urge to throw his plant mister away and cuddle his angel, and continued to wet the leaves, whispering threats as he moved around the room. 

"Crowley, dear?" 

"Yes, angel?" 

"I'm feeling rather warm. Do you mind opening the window for me? Just for a little while?" 

"Sure angel, whatever you need." 

This time Crowley did not resist the urge, and went to his angel, resting his hand over his forehead, making sure there was nothing to worry about. Seeing that there wasn't, he went back to gardening. Aziraphale went back to reading, and slowly emptying the box of pastries Crowley brought him. A few days into his... healing process, Aziraphale stopped saying how "decadent" it was eating in bed and simply accepted it as a fact of life. 

Seeing the content little smile on his face Crowley could not help but acknowledge, deep within himself that, yea, the angel has been enjoying this way too much. 

"Darling?" 

"Angel?" 

"Would you, if it's not too much trouble..." 

"What is it?" 

"Throw me an extra blanket?" 

"Or I could just close the window if you’re cold..." 

"No, thank you dear boy, I-I quite like fresh air." 

"Alrigh'" 

Said Crowley and covered the angel himself, earning the shiniest, brightest smile in all of London. 

"Better now?"

"Much, thank you love." 

A few more peaceful minutes passed by before…

"My sweet Crowley?" 

"Oh for Heaven'ssssss... what now, angel?" 

"Can you refill the hot water bottle? for my feet? They are still rather cold..." 

"Sure" the demon sighed exasperatedly and reached out his hand, "give it here." 

Aziraphale searched amidst his blankets for a little while and then... 

"Oh dear... I seem to have forgotten it down stairs! No wonder my feet feel like ice. Do you mind getting it for me? and don't miracle me a new one, they never feel quite the s... Crowley? w-what are you doing? why are you pointing that at me?" 

Fear and hesitation replaced the pleading look on the angel's round face as he watched his beloved pointing the plant mister at him. 

"That's it angel, you want water, I'll give you water." the smirk on his face was unmistakable, and it meant trouble. 

"No! Crowley, please!" 

"Looks like I have a rather talkative dandelion here, don't I? I should water it." he pressed the handle and sprayed water all over Aziraphale's head, the little droplets clinging to his curls and eyelashes making him look like a creature out of a fairy story. 

“Stop, you fiend!" Aziraphale yelped, horrified, "look what you've done to my pyjamas!" he grabbed a pillow to hide behind while Crowley leaped forward, spraying him mercilessly. 

Eventually, after some pillows were thrown and a small struggle took place the two were panting on the bed, Crowley on top of Aziraphale, their noses almost touching, basking in each other's rapid breaths. 

"You beast." murmured Aziraphale, looking very intentionally at Crowley's lips. 

"You ssssspoiled little cherub," huffed Crowley, and sent his tongue to lick a water drop from Aziraphale's temple. The angel moaned with pleasure and sent his hand to grab onto... 

Nothing, apparently, since the demon was already on his feet, straightening his jacket and drying himself as well as his angel with a slight move of his wrist. 

"No, no, no, your back is still healing." he grinned at his angel's look of utter dismay, "You need to rest and recover. Doctor's orders." 

He collected the forgotten plant mister and stepped out of the room, hips obscenely all over the place, more than usual. 

The next time Crowley saw Aziraphale, the angel was properly dressed for the first time in what seemed like forever, dusting the shelves eagerly. 

“I see you miracled your coat back.” 

“It was in the cupboard. I thought  _ you _ miracled it at first, but I found a note in my coat’s breast pocket.”

“A note?” 

“Yes. It was from Gabriel. Apparently he miracled them back, all new and two sizes up as the note so generously informed“

“That wanker.” Crowley rolled his eyes “Anyway, you feeling better?” 

“Yes, rather. Tip top. Never better. Absolutely tickety-b…” 

"I must be a better healer than Raphael" murmured Crowley into Aziraphale's ear as he grabbed him from behind.

*********

The days went by with little effect. Around it, the others came and went, got picked and chosen while it remained rooted to its place on the same dusty shelf, getting dustier while the others were fulfilling their duties, getting washed and gleaming in the ocasional sunlight. It waited patiently for its turn.

*********

Crowley was concerned.

For the past few days Aziraphale had taken it upon himself to reshelve his books, but not just one particular section - that he could have understood. 

But no. 

The angel had decided and declared in a no nonsense voice that he intended to reshelve the entire bookshop! 

Crowley wasn't sure whether to rejoice that his significant other had gone back to his normal state or worry that Aziraphale was taking too much on himself so soon after his recovery.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, angel?” He asked as Aziraphale lugged a heavy looking pile of books from one shelf to another.

“Absolutely, dear boy. I have been meaning to do this for quite some time now” He adjusted his glasses as he peered down to read a particularly small title on the spine of an old tome.”now where should I put you?” he muttered under his breath with a small frown.

“Yes, but the whole shop?” Crowley was watching him from his regular spot on the plush couch.

“That is what I said, Crowley” he had obviously made a decision about the old tome in his hand and placed it on a bookcase on the other side of the room, then came back bearing a set of small Beatrix Potter books, looked around and with pursed lips set them neatly on the floor. 

He then proceeded to dodder around to a display cabinet and reached a round hand to the large figurine that stood on top, pulling a dozen scrolls onto the floor with it.

“Oh, dear” He murmured and bent down to retrieve them while still holding the figurine. 

Crowley was there in a flash and picked up those that Aziraphale couldnt with his hands full. 

“Thank you” he said absentmindedly and placed them on the little round table, while still holding the figurine, as if he had forgotten that he was holding it.

“Look, Aziraphale, I get that you want to get back to routine and all that, but don't you think you’re going too fast?” Aziraphale looked at him incredulously. He snorted derisively and placed the small statue on the windowsill. 

“Weren't you the one to tell me that it was high time I got out of bed?”

“Yes, bu-”

“And was it not you who insisted I get back on my feet?” he continued.

“Yes, bu-”

“Then I don't see what the problem is with me taking the time to sort my collection” he smiled that annoyingly smug ‘I got you that time’ smile and went off to the other side of the shop to take yet another pile of books off the shelves. 

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Fine” he grimaced “don't come crying back to me when you’ve drained all your energy and need to sleep for another two weeks” he could have been talking to the walls for all the attention Aziraphale was giving him. 

The demon slithered back onto the couch and grabbed his wine glass, draining it in one gulp while Aziraphale’s own wine glass sat half drunk and forgotten on the table.

A minute later he shot up as he heard a mighty crash and a startled 

“Aaaa!”

Then a muffled “Oof!”

Then a pitiful “Ow”

Crowley rounded a corner to find Aziraphale on the floor surrounded by books and papers, his little round glasses dangling from one ear. The demon stood there in dumb silence for a bit then burst out laughing. 

Aziraphale’s cheeks burned at the indignity of it all.

“I’m sorry” he wheezed “but you look so ridiculous!”

“Oh, you fiend! Help me up, please” he stretched out an arm but Crowey was too busy cackling. 

“Wot’cha doin’ on the floor, angel? Wine finally got to you?”

“What wine?” Aziraphale said indignantly.

“That one!” Crowley shot back and fell into a fit of giggles.

Aziraphale frowned “Oh, yes, well done Crowley, well done! You win first prize in the World’s Worst Pun contest” Crowley continued to snigger.

“Will you please help me up, Crowley!”

“Pppffff, yeah alrigh’” He grabbed his angel’s arm and hauled him to his feet, Aziraphale grabbed his glasses and shoved them into his pocket. He gave a great groan and placed his palms on his lower back, stretched and winced.

“Come on, take a seat” Crowley said as he led him to his plush armchair. Aziraphale looked at the scattered books longingly “Rest for five minutes. I’m sure the books won't mind.” 

The angel exhaled a mighty huff as he plopped down, wincing again as he tried sitting comfortably.

“Here,” Crowley said “have a drink” he handed him a glass of red.

“Thank you, my dear” Aziraphale took the proffered glass and took an appreciative sip. Leaning back into the cushion, he winced again. Crowley looked on in concern.

“Your back?”

Aziraphale wiggled this way and that, trying to sit snuggly and failed.

“Oh, it's no use” he sighed “I think it might be my wings” 

Crowley moved in alarm but Aziraphale raised a hand placatingly “Oh, it's nothing like that, dear boy. I just…” a blush pinked his cheeks. 

“I think they need….grooming”

“Oh” said Crowley, his own cheeks feeling a little warm as well.

“Could you…” Aziraphale paused not knowing why it was so hard for him to ask.  _ It’s Crowley for goodness sake! Just ask him!  _

“Yes, angel? Could I, what?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat “Would you mind terribly, to perhaps...if it wasn’t too much trouble” his hands fiddled with themselves and he gulped “No, no you’ve done too much for me already, dear boy” 

“Come on, angel, what do you need?”

“Y-you know what I need…” 

“Then assssk it of me, angel.” Aziraphale wet his lips but stayed silent. “I wanna hear you say it!” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath “Would you have a go at-at grooming me?” His cheeks flushing a deeper pink.

When he looked up, Crowley had the soppiest smile tugging at his lips.

“Of course I’ll groom you, angel” 

“Aw! Would you?” Aziraphale smiled in relief.

“Come on,” Crowley plopped a cushion on the carpet in front of him and pointed at it “Sit”

“H-here?” Aziraphale glanced at the front door with trepidation.

“You prefer upstairs?” Crowley asked seriously. 

He wasn’t stupid, time may have passed but he knew what Aziraphale was afraid of. 

Aziraphale fidgeted for a beat then squared his shoulders and determinedly moved to sit on the pillow. He crossed his legs, straitened his back and with a woosh that caused a few papers to flutter around, his wings materialised in their bright white glory. 

“Let’s see what we’ve got here” Crowley muttered and slowly ran a thumb over the prickly pin feathers that had sprouted around thin, barely seen scars. The spindley puckering lines were white against the angel’s pink skin but the new feathers were already growing to eventually conceal them. Aziraphale fidgeted as Crowley stroked the first straw-like needles and immediately drew back.

“You ok?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale settled back again “it just..er..itches a bit. Do carry on my dear” 

An hour or so went by and Crowley had methodically opened up and smoothed every pin feather he could find, every few minutes giving the skin a little scratch to ease the itch that was surely making his angel uncomfortable. Once Crowley was done he moved on to the larger, older feathers which looked quite disheveled and in definite need of preening.

Aziraphale breathed heavily through his mouth, chest heaving up and down, a charged gasp escaped his lips as long, deft fingers sieved, tidied and rearranged his feathers. From top to bottom, Crowley didn't leave a plume untouched. Crowley’s hands on his feathers felt like sunlight on frozen skin. 

Aziraphale at some point, had closed his eyes and simply basked in the sensation of it all. Oh, how he missed this! 

His fingers ran down his wing like oysters slipping down his gullet making him moan in appreciation. 

Crowley now moved to his other wing, fingers brushing, scratching and smoothing the quills into place. A shiver ran up his wing which in turn made his whole body melt. Pools of pleasure were welling and bubbling up inside him, racing towards…lower regions of his corporation. 

When Crowley reached the tip of his wing, he couldn't help himself any longer and turned his head to face his beloved partner. Aziraphale gazed at Crowley’s deft fingers as they ran through each feather, then back up at his beautiful yellow eyes. 

Aziraphale’s own eyes grew heavy-lidded as he watched Crowley’s face - eyes, cheekbones, mouth. That mouth always  _ did  _ look delicious. He cleared his throat but Crowley just continued grooming him.

“Uh...Crowley…” he leaned a little towards him.

“Hmm” he said, not looking up.

“Crowley…” He breathed, his wing slowly slipping out of the demon's hands as he drew himself closer, then gently nuzzled his nose into the demon’s jaw.

“Ngk!” Crowley raised his eyes to look at what the angel was doing to him only to have soft lips graze at his own. 

“Wha-ange-guh” was all he said as Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulders and kissed him again. In the back of his mind he hazily noticed that his angel’s wings were no longer there.

“I love you” Aziraphale’s soft features beamed in adoration and Crowley lost himself in the bluest blue of the Principality’s eyes.

“I love you too, angel” and he kissed him on the tip of his nose which elicited a small giggle. 

He then proceeded to kiss his jaw, right underneath the ear then moved back to Aziraphale’s inviting, open lips and slipped his tongue inside. Aziraphale held onto Crowey’s jaws to keep the space between them as small as possible, joining them as one, tongues entwined in the longest of kisses. 

When they finally detached themselves from one another, Aziraphale got up only to rest a knee on the couch and gently pushed Crowley against the armrest, hands flat on his chest and leaned in to kiss him yet again. 

Crowley tipped his head back with a moan, his hands meanwhile found themselves encircling the angel’s soft middle, grabbing the old waistcoat in one and traveling down to cup at his bottom with the other. Aziraphale smiled through his kisses and continued to explore his lover’s skin with new vehemence. 

*********

The sun went down and then up again. All through the night the couple, divested of all and any scrap of earthly clothing, had moved from couch to floor and from room to room ending up in a tangle of limbs and sheets in the angel’s soft bed.

The sunrise was all the brighter for it and the Soho streets felt alive with human activity. 

*********

Something was changing. Not quickly, not suddenly, but slowly creeping unto it. It started small, from the bottom. One crack at a time, they began to dwindle, reducing themselves until only a smooth surface remained. It’s white wings of porcelain were slowly mending to their former glory. 

If mugs had had feelings it would have felt that it’s waiting was almost over.

*********

The angel was a curious being by nature. He liked to explore things. Right now he was experimenting with the mesmerizing effect that his fingers in Crowley’s hair had on the demon who was sprawled beside him, resting his head on Aziraphale’s chest.

“I seem to recall reading somewhere that snakes have two penises'' Aziraphale said with a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “How come you only have one, my dear?”

Crowley raised his eyebrows in incredulity. 

“First of all,  _ angel,  _ I’m a demon snake not a snake snake and second of all it’s hard enough making an Effort to create one..ngk..guh...Effort, you want me to-” Crowley trailed off mid sentence. Aziraphale was grinning like a monkey on nitrous oxide. 

“You cheeky bastard!” Crowley said in exasperation and proceeded to tackle the angel deeper into the pillows and tickled his soft belly, all the while Aziraphale squealed in delighted laughter, giving as good as he got. 

They sprawled on the bed, both heaving heavy breaths, recovering from all the tickling. 

With a decisive exhale Aziraphale sat up.

“I’m going down-” Crowley’s face lit up. “to make a pot of tea, would you like some?” 

Crowley’s face fell, but he recovered and nodded, stretching across the bed as Aziraphale got up. Crowley looked his beautiful lover up and down admiring the view until a tartan robe covered said lover up. 

Fifteen minutes passed and Aziraphale still hadn’t come back up. 

_ Where’s he got to? _ Crowley wondered and dragged himself out of bed.  _ If he started to rearrange his shelves again I swear by all that’s unholy I will burn all his bow ties.  _

He quickly grabbed Aziraphale’s pyjama top and buttoned two buttons for modesty’s sake. He went down the spiral stairs in his bare feet. 

“Angel?” he called. 

Silence answered him. 

He reached the ground floor and when he couldn’t see Aziraphale anywhere in the shop area, he moved towards the kitchenette. On the table sat a pot of tea sending steam up into the air. 

Finally he found him. 

Behind the table, Aziraphale was staring at the open cupboard. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley approached carefully. 

As he moved closer, he could see the winged cup he had miracled back together so long ago, sitting on the shelf in Aziraphale’s line of vision. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley lightly patted his shoulder. 

Aziraphale jumped a little in response. “Oh! I didn’t hear you come in! I’m so sorry my dear, have you been waiting long?” 

“Nah, just a few minutes. Are you alright?” Crowley saw Aziraphale sneak a glance at the mug again. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath. 

He delicately gathered the mug into his round palms and allowed his finger to roam the now invisible cracks on the porcelain wings. 

He didn't say anything, but he knew he’d always know the cracks were there, each and every one of them. He could map them. Their outlines were carved deep into his memory. Then, as though waking up from a dream, he proceeded to grab the kettle, poured the steaming tea and took a long gulp. 

He smiled victoriously up at Crowley.

“You know? I think I will be”

Crowley smiled back. 

He also had the feeling that his angel will be alright. 

That they both will. 

  
  


**THE END**


End file.
